Fate Unleashed
by darkdruid01
Summary: Eragon and Saphira have found a home for the Order, but a shadowy threat looms in the West. Can a certain she-elf and her dragon be of any help - one they haven't seen in nearly three years? When the new Riders arrive, the mysterious enemy shows itself - from an abandoned home, and a forgotten war. T for blood-and-gore violence and romantic themes. Continues the legacy.
1. Prologue in Two Parts

**Prologue I**

**Arya**

Dusk fell on the leafy boughs of Du Weldenvarden, and Arya Dröttning's mood complemented the evening fog. She waited for Fírnen on the Crags of Tel'nair, brooding with the sunset's last russet streaks. A pattering of rain kissed her face, but the clouds were not yet upon her – she had time enough to escape the oncoming storm. Cradled in her hands was a fairth. It showed a young man with dark hair, roguish for an elf but beautiful to any human. Behind him crouched a strikingly blue dragon at the height of its prime. The magical drawing was meticulously detailed; its lines precise as an arrow's flight.

After a long moment, Arya impulsively half-turned and threw the slate to the ground, letting it shatter on the rocks. Her brows furrowed, a hurt expression on her face. So troubled was she that she did not notice Fírnen, who had been hunting, until he was right next to her and his mind touched hers.

_Why did you break it? _the emerald dragon asked calmly, his mental voice as deep as an ocean.

_Because it hurts, _thought Arya. _Isn't that obvious?_

Fírnen opened his mouth in a great yawn, fangs clicking together as he did so. He had grown twice again the size he had been almost two and a half years ago, when _they_ had left. _You can't go on denying it. To ignore one's problems –_

_-is not to solve them, _Arya finished. _I know. _She sighed heavily. Two years should be no more than a minute to an elf. _So why have these felt so long?_

_You miss him, _Fírnen reasoned. _And I miss her._

The elf stood and approached the dragon, leaning against the scales of his foreleg gently. _You ate well? _she asked, trying to change the subject.

_As usual. Did any –_

_No. Even after completing the exchange twice, the two eggs still have not hatched. Orik and Garzhvog are perplexed by their stagnant nature._

_Maybe we should send for more._

_Fírnen…_

_It's been a while since you wrote to him anyway! I'm sure he's busy, _he added hastily. _If he weren't I'm sure he'd contact us._

Arya pressed her face to his scales. _Perhaps you're right._

Fírnen rumbled. _"Perhaps" has to be the most-often-thought-of word in your mind, Arya._

She blinked. _I cannot help but think of what might have been._

_Nor can I help having visions of such forced upon me each night with increasing detail. _The gleam in his huge eyes was so victoriously humorous that is was hard to become angry.

_Come on, O Insufferable One, _thought Arya. _If we need more eggs, we shall have to mail-order them._

**Prologue II**

**Eragon**

After two and a half years, what could be called a castle now stood in the plateaus east of Alegaësia, in the mountain range Du Fells Yawë that ringed a fjord connected to the Az Ragni. Eragon and the thirty elves – Blöhdgarm's spellcasters plus the crew of the _Talíta_ – had beached their ship and raised a settlement there. The beach took to rocky hills rather quickly, and inside the slope of the mountains a network of caverns stored the eggs and dormant Eldunarí. Above these heated vaults was a fortress jutting out of the cliff faces. It rivaled the halls of Vroengard in size, but no matter how much it was refined over the building process it had always seemed to Eragon that a grander building should stand where this rough-cut stronghold was. The castle worked around the cliffs with rooms and towers sprouting in three directions. The fourth, directly behind the structure, was the back of an overhang. The overhang itself hung above a field, accessible by a tunnel through the base of the rock formation.

The elves preferred to sing themselves houses in the forest nearby, but they helped use magic to build the Riders' citadel. Their gramarye and the Eldunarí's power had been indispensable – without these, the castle would have taken nearly a decade to raise. Eragon and Saphira alone would not have been fast or powerful enough. But with them, two years and five months had passed and now the castle was complete. In that time, Eragon had little contact with his friends and family. He occasionally scried with Roran, Nasuada, or Orik, while Arya he kept in contact with through infrequent letters due to the elven forest's wards against scrying. He tried to keep busy, but secretly he wished to see them all again in person. If only he could return…

But the eggs were not safe here, even with the elves and Cuaroc to protect them. Strange things had happened since their arrival in the easterling lands. For instance, a number of curious creatures had been encountered by Eragon and Saphira. In the river, several tentacle creatures nearly the size of a Nïdwhal had tried to capsize the boat. only fire could dissuade them. Additionally, a number of Fanghur inhabited the mountains, possibly having migrated from the Beors. One night Eragon had awoken to mysterious scratching noises and found a spider as large as a hunting hound climbing across his window. Although Saphira assured him that she would eat theses and any more besides that they found, Eragon was nervous. He had yet to understand the squids, and the spider's mind had been full of pure, hungry malevolence. If a baby dragon or even the eggs ran afoul of these beings somehow, something terrible could happen. Even after all of these hostile animals, Eragon sometimes felt tiny movements in the magic around him that set him on edge. Something dangerous always seemed close, but he could never pinpoint it. Most of the time he was able to tune it out or ignore it, but at night or whenever he was vulnerable, it gnawed at his conscience.

Always, though, his mind would turn back to Alegaësia, and his life in the west, and how much he missed all of his comrades from the War. Blöhdgarm, Yaela, and the rest of the elves were there, but after months turned into years their company began to pall. Although he knew and liked them as friends, Eragon longed to see a human, dwarf, or Urgal… or at least someone he was better acquainted with and understood. Still, what time he spent with them proved pleasant, and for the most part he was able to keep busy.

The Rider himself lived in the empty fortress with Saphira, who could come and go as she pleased thanks to a series of dragon-portals stylized after the elven Riders' houses in Ellesméra. Not only were they shielded by magic from weather, but they could also open and close with the traditional screens to prevent the rooms from feeling or looking too exposed. These portals allowed dragons to enter and exit the buildings at all points of interest, and were just one in a series of accommodating features that would come in handy while raising a brood of young dragons.

Eragon sat in his just-finished quarters, also made to imitate his house in Ellesméra. Saphira was curled on an enormous cushion, a furnishing she insisted on, and Eragon rested his back against her flank, writing thoughtfully on a scrap of parchment. The dark wood paneling was half illuminated by a crackling fire in the corner, and as the sky dimmed outside, the room began to glow. Eragon abruptly crumpled the paper and threw it into the flames, sighing indignantly.

_Well? _said Saphira's voice in his head.

_Well what?_

_You've been on that letter for hours. What's keeping you? _She blew a gentle puff of smoke from her nostrils.

_Arya asked for more eggs. Three more, after we had discussed teaching five at a time._

_So?_

_I'm going to transport them to her by magic tomorrow._

_So?_

_So I'm trying to write her back!_

_So write that you'll send them tomorrow._

_And how is that supposed to answer her inquiries about our health, the castle, the eggs, the Eldunarí, and the elves? _He rapped his stylus on the floor. _What am I supposed to say, that we're fine? Because I'm not. Should I be ashamed that I already want to go back? Why can't I just say what I'm feeling without feeling rotten about it?_

_Are we worrying about pushing someone away? _Saphira asked knowingly.

_More than we already have? _Eragon ran his fingers through his hair. _You tell me. you're in my head._ He paused. _I just wish – _

_I know._

_There has to be some kind of loophole. There's always one._

_Stop messing yourself over it or you'll get sick again. _

_I'm already sick,_ Eragon decided. _I need to see my friends again. And to do that, I have to come to them… or they'll have to come to me._


	2. One: The Next Generation

**Chapter One: The Next Generation**

**Eragon**

A bright flash lit up the cave with brilliant blue. Eragon felt the usual drop in his stamina and the transportation spell ended. _Nicely done, _said Glaedr in his mind. _Hopefully their arrival won't trigger an explosion this time._

_You told me that happens to everyone on the first try! _complained Eragon.

_Indeed, but not everyone sets their destination aflame the second and third times. _There was a note of humor in the gold dragon's voice.

The human shrugged. _Maybe I'm just cursed to set things on fire all the time. Brisingr could be proof of that._

_More likely, the word "Brisingr" is somewhere in your sword's true name. Listen, I'm sure I've told you this before, _rumbled Glaedr as Eragon walked out of the vaults into the noonday sun. The crystal blue water of the fjord sparkled like fool's gold under the light.

Umaroth entered the conversation. _Since we are speaking of names, there might be a certain way that you can return to Alegaësia._

Eragon scratched at his gedwëy ignasia absentmindedly. _Do tell._

_Since that fortune was cast, your true name – and that of Alegaësia itself – has changed. you are no longer the same person, and it is no longer the same place._

_It could be so, _the Rider admitted. _But I can't leave the eggs until there's a way to keep them safe, and for that I need to know what's out there. I need new Riders._

_In that case, once the eggs you sent hatch, we'd better begin training them right away, _advised Glaedr.

By now Eragon was ascending the stone steps to the castle, and he turned the corner to climb another staircase to his tower. Saphira was gone, probably out hunting as she was wont to do. He threw himself into a chair and picked at a leftover crust of bread on the desk, puckish from his magic use. A glass mirror that hung on the wall rippled, and an image of the citadel at Ilirea appeared. Nasuada was staring intently at Eragon. "You're early," he said, smiling. Usually they scried only once or twice every month or so.

"Two of the eggs have hatched," she said breathlessly, dark braids tangling around her darker face. "To humans. I just got word." The glitter in her brown eyes and the youthful excitement she projected erased the past few years from her presence.

Eragon leaned forward. "Really?" _So it was right to send more! Though we _were _trying__for a dwarf and Urgal pair… _"They've started the circuit, then?"

The queen nodded. "Yes. From Ilia Fëon to Hedarth, in a curve along the coast. They'll hit almost every city. With luck, the next few will hatch in the Spine and the Beors. Arya's flying with them now – she and Fírnen will give them some basic instruction."

Eragon nodded. Then, "How are things?"

"Rather dull," admitted Nasuada. "No rebellions or bloody wars to fight." They both laughed.

"Oromis once told me that a hero is always bored – daily life isn't exciting enough and questing is what he does for a living." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Angela and Elva are well?"

"I haven't heard from Angela, but Elva's been spending a great deal of time with the werecats, of all people. Should I be worried?"

Eragon grinned. "Only if they're scared off their bowls of cream.

After a second the mirth melted off Nasuada's face. Ugh. I have to go now. There's a 'diplomatic discussion' concerning the Riders soon among the world leaders. Guess who called it."

"Orrin."

"Right, first try. I'll bet he wants to control any Riders that come from Surda."

"Then we'll take him off the circuit," said Eragon. "See what he does then. The Riders serve, but we don't follow – especially not him."

"True," the queen mused. "I'll bring it up. Farewell, Eragon."

"Goodbye." the mirror shimmered and was still, reflecting only the room it was situated in. _I ought to tell the elves, _he thought, then reached out with his mind. _Blöhdgarm!_

The answer came a moment later. _You have need of us, Shadeslayer?_

_Only a word. The circuit has begun and two eggs have bonded._

Eragon could sense the elf's joy and that of his peers, but it was not betrayed by his response. _We will make the necessary preparation immediately. _

Suddenly, muffled wingbeats came from the distance. Eragon ran up to the dragonroost above the fortress, taking the steps three at a time. The stone platform jutted out of cliff and building alike, akin to a giant hand clawing for the river beyond. A streak of blue flashed past him, and Saphira landed gracefully on the edge of the roost as he approached. _Little One._

Without saying anything, Eragon shared with her the memories of what had just transpired. After she had viewed them, he said, _It is starting._

_Five! _Saphira roared victoriously, shaking the ground with tremors worthy of a small earthquake. _Two dragons anew, and soon to be three more!_

_I know. _He smiled. _We have a few days, maybe a little over a week and a half. Let's get this place in order._

_We'll see just how many dragons can fit, eh? _ Fire licked at the edges of Saphira's snout as she rumbled excitedly.

The Eldunarí, who had been silent up until then, suddenly started speaking all at once. Even the older ones like Valdr had something to say. For a moment, Eragon couldn't understand because so many were talking about different things, but after a moment Umaroth and Glaedr rose above the din.

_Tread lightly, Kingkiller, _said the white dragon. _Those who taught the Forsworn learned the lesson of guidance long ago._

_And that is? _inquired the Rider.

Glaedr answered him. _To focus on training peacekeepers, not soldiers. For a warrior becomes a conqueror, but those who keep the peace are content to remain so._

_Sound advice, _Eragon said. _Thank you, ebrithilar._ Saphira repeated the acknowledgement. Or had they said it at the same time? He was not sure. _A week and a half, _he thought privately. _Forget torture and death, perhaps waiting is the truest agony._

**Arya**

Five dragons soared through the air, banking around the easternmost peaks of the Beor mountains. The largest dragon, at the head of the "delta" formation, was green; the others comprised a medley of silver, purple, brown, and black. Arya and Fírnen pulled into a dive, landing at the bank of the Az Ragni. The smaller dragons, barely fit to ride, followed suit.

First to arrive was Astrid, a blond, rosy-cheeked dwarf girl and Rider of the brown dragon, Ragnar. She was cheerful and kind, and though so far she did not particularly excel in fighting or magic, Arya felt a calm in her mind that belied no impatience. Ragnar himself was a hotheaded, tenacious type, but the two canceled each other out and worked well together.

Next were the two human initiates, Opheila from Teirm and Beq from Feinster. Both were recently of age. Opheila was a slim, attractive girl with fair, tanned skin and chestnut hair. She had an affinity for innovative spells. The silver dragon, who had taken the name Thera, had hatched for her the minute she approached. Thera was reserved and intelligent, and their combined cleverness was sometimes disturbingly calculating. Beq was slightly older, a tall, powerfully built young man. He was a blacksmith's apprentice, obvious from his familiarity with weapons and the muscles under his deep brown arms. He spoke relatively little, taciturn at the best of times, but the purple dragon he was joined with, Naroki, had plenty to say for them both. She was ambitious and very, very talkative.

Last came Vaas, the young Urgal ram matched with the stocky black dragon Ithros. Owing to the fact that Vaas was a Kull, Ithros had grown faster and burlier than any of his fellows. The two were very intimidating together. Sometimes it was hard to read Vaas, but he generally came across as a determined and bright young warrior. Ithros was much the same on personality's terms.

Arya stood with her back to them, looking at the large estuary where the river met the sea – an area absent on most maps. She could sense the curiosity and mild discomfort in her students' minds as they lingered in silence, staring at the black waves as nightfall became total and inescapable. Opheila came up behind her, Thera's head snaking around to follow over her shoulder. "Ebrithilar?" she asked with her mouth and mind. "What is it?"

"Look there," answered Arya, pointing to the waves beyond. "What do you see?"

Ragnar, who had particularly sharp eyesight even for a dragon, spoke first. _A body – there's someone out there! I can't make them out. They're too big for a dwarf and too small for an Urgal._

_I have them, _Fírnen said, and he took off with a gust of wind. The others watched him fly into the mist and in due course return with something in his claws. As he landed, he gently tipped out what he was carrying. Arya made it there first and stumbled over the waterlogged body of a human boy. She jumped as she beheld his face – he looked so like Eragon for a moment that her heart leapt into her throat. But he was obviously more human, and had darker hair and sharper features than Eragon had possessed before the Agaetí Blöhdren. His fit, lean frame was clothed in a tunic and leggings, with some type of leather armor strapped to his forearms, shins, and torso. By the rise and fall of his chest, Arya could tell he was breathing. It was faint, though: the boy was half-drowned. There were also cuts and scrapes on his hands and face, the only exposed skin he had, but a few of them went under his clothes and Arya was reminded of her torture in Gil'ead by their methodical, systematic pattern. A nasty gash from his temple to his jawline made it clear that he was barely hanging on to life.

"This boy needs a healer," said Arya tersely. "I can close the wounds, but he'll recover slowly. How far are we from Hedarth?"

"Maybe a day," Astrid ventured. "Give or take."

"Good." Arya murmured, "Waíse heill," and the youth's cuts began to close. "We'll see if a medic can watch him there. Surely Nasuada, Orik, maybe even Garzhvog has one with them."

_Should one of us fly him?_ Naroki, predictably quick to volunteer.

"No need. Fírnen and I will carry him." She picked him up as easily as a bundle of firewood and set him in the saddle, then climbed on herself. "Mount up! We do not stop until we reach the rendezvous point." As the Riders prepared to take to the skies, a strange rustling came from one of Fírnen's saddlebags – the one where Arya had kept the last egg.

_Erm, Arya?_

_Yes, Fírnen?_

_Do you hear that sort of tapping noise? _Before she could say yes, an earsplitting crack rang out, causing the initiates and dragons to jump and wheel around to face Arya, who sat paralyzed as an amber baby dragon crawled out of the saddle bag, glistening wet. It yawned, spread its tiny wings, and climbed up to where the unconscious youth was slumped against Arya's back. It pressed its nose to his hand, mewling timorously. To her amazement the human's eyes flicked open as a flash announced the gedwëy ignasia gracing his palm. When it faded, his eyelids drooped and he slipped back under. The hatchling nipped his finger and, when it did not rouse him, crawled into his lap and curled up there.

"That decided something," grunted Vaas. "Looks like he'll be coming with us either way."

Arya waved them all off. "We shall deal with our curiosities later. Let's go!" Without another word, the dragons launched into flight. As Fírnen rose into the air, Arya touched the hatchling's mind and told it that it was safe, and need not worry. The dragon could be male or female; it for now only thought in images and sensations. For some reason it insisted on showing Arya a certain picture of its new Rider lying on the beach, which it had seen in her mind. She didn't know what it was trying to tell her, but it wouldn't stop until she convinced it that she understood. Fírnen also had an exchange with the baby dragon. It went in a similar fashion, but all he could glean was that it wasn't hungry quite yet. The green dragon found this very odd, but Arya didn't worry or wonder about it as much as he did.

As the thunder of dragons flew into the desert, their arrival at Hedarth close at hand, one thought went through every mind. Any way you looked at it, a new chapter in the Riders' story was about to begin. With all the eggs bonded, it was only a matter of time until the Order truly lived once more.


	3. Two: Reunion

**Hey, everyone! I'm just going to say I'm so happy about how well received this story is becoming. Let's make this a perfect second try!**

**Gabby and Guests and everyone else: Thank you for your beautiful reviews. **

**And to answer the one question I had, the reason Arya asked Astrid the distance to Hedarth is this:**

**Although Arya has been all around the world ferrying the eggs, before and after Galby's defeat, the fact of the matter is that until now, Hedarth was not on the radar for the egg circuit. Thus, _she has never been there from the Beors on dragonback_. Astrid, a dwarven girl, lives in the area and has family in Hedarth (who we'll meet later) and since she's Ingeitum (did I mention that?), was probably there with Orik's entourage to see Eragon off at the end of Inheritance. Since she's part of the culture and knows the land better, as well as having presumably been there multiple times, she'd be able to give a slightly more accurate rough estimate. Hope that helped!**

**Awright, mah peeps, let's get on with it. Shipping fluff ahoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Reunion**

**Eragon**

Saphira roared and swiped at the Fanghur, tearing a quintet of gashes in its side with her claws. Another swooped in from above; Eragon yelled, "Jierda!" and its spine shattered, sending it plummeting to the earth. Suddenly both Rider and dragon heard a group of high-pitched, grating shrieks, followed by a rapid assault on their minds. However, they fended off all three remaining Fanghur easily, and proceeded to change course for a counterattack. Flying under the lowest of the three, Eragon merely had to hold Brisingr upright over his head to deliver a fatal blow. The sword's blue blade gleamed almost purple with blood. Saphira twisted and buffeted one Fanghur with her wings while clawing and biting the other. The latter joined its pack mates in the void, while the former escaped with many broken bones and a mortal fear of dragons, most likely.

Regardless of the fact that the danger was past, Eragon and Saphira remained vigilant for the rest of their flight. It was close now – the creeping sensation of dread that was always in the back of Eragon's brain, slowly seeping into his conscious thoughts. As it was, he was reluctant to let his guard down, and he and Saphira did not touch minds until the castle was in view. His vest and undershirt clung to him with sweat. The laces of the former had come undone in the flurry of battle.

_That was in interesting sense of déjà vu, _mused Saphira. _Takes me back to our first journey to Du Weldenvarden._

_Mh… but they're getting bolder. We'll have to be more watchful; there are more out here than there are in the Beors. And anyway, that was when my back was still scarred. _He scratched his shoulder. _Can you believe that? Almost four years I've gone around looking like an elven princeling._

_Time flies faster than I do sometimes. _A moment of silence, then:_ We need a name for this place._

_Why's that?_

_So we can stop calling it "the castle" or "the fortress" whenever we talk about it. _

_What about Doru Breoaldras? It follows the "Doru" naming of Vroengard's city, and it means "the city that is a house" in the ancient language._

_I like it. If we Riders and dragons are going to be one big family, this will only serve to drive the idea home. It will keep us closer, just as having fewer of us at a time will. _

_So be it. _As the sun sank in the sky across the mountains, Eragon used theName of Names to give the title to the settlement – it seemed more proper somehow that to just decide to call it that. _We can mention it to the elves when they return._

_With the new Riders. _As Saphira said this, a leap of joy entered both of their minds with the realization. The elves were three days out on the _Talíta_, the original twenty crew plus Blöhdgarm and his spellcasters to help the young trainees further and otherwise protect the other passengers – assorted world leaders, family, and emissaries, presumably. Hence Eragon and Saphira were the only ones besides Cuaroc left to watch over Doru Breoaldras, hence the patrol during which they had encountered a hunting pack of Fanghur. _We have still longer to wait. They'll be at Hedarth by the time the next three days are over, and then it's another week or so…_

_I know. Longer still. _The next day passed as a shadow at dusk, fleeting and nondescript. They encountered no threats on their flights, and by late afternoon Eragon and Saphira resigned to sitting on the front pier, watching the waves of the lake.

One minute it wasn't there, and then it was: a flash of emerald in the sky, streaking toward them at great distance. Eragon cast out his mind. _Cuaroc! We may need you! _The Eldunarí sent him an impression of affirmation and seconds later his metal body's footfalls echoed in the castle behind them. Saphira stood as Eragon swung athletically into the saddle, and then took off, racing toward the other dragon. As they closed the distance between them, another mind touched Eragon's, one he had not felt for nigh on three years. A wrenching feeling came into his gut. It was not an unpleasant emotion that triggered it. He lowered his defenses and made full contact. He and Saphira merged with the other pair. He then knew, for certain, who the other Rider was.

_Arya!_

_Eragon!_

Fírnen roared, a much deeper bellow than he'd had before, and Saphira let out a titanic one of her own. Executing a backflip, Eragon and Saphira entered a parallel track with Arya and Fírnen, leading them to land on the pier. A charge of excitement and happiness crackled back and forth through their mental link. As soon as the Riders dismounted Saphira and Fírnen tackled each other, rolled and wrestling like children playing in the dirt. Eragon could not suppress a smile, and Arya returned it, showing her white teeth. She looked more beautiful than ever, garbed in her familiar black leathers and a green sash.

Eragon twisted his right hand over his chest in greeting, and started to say: "Atra esterní ono theldui-" but Arya rushed forward and embraced him, cutting him off. He was almost too surprised to respond, but he encircled her in his arms, taking in the scent of crushed pine needles. They held each other for a moment, and then Arya pulled away.

"Wait a moment – I have injured with me." she raised a hand and spoke in the ancient language. Promptly, a body materialized from thin air and fell, giving her barely enough time to catch it. The black-haired youth landed in her arms like a babe. He looked as if he was reaching manhood, but the crisscross scars on his face made it impossible to estimate his age correctly. An amber baby dragon crawled out from under his jacket, sending Eragon's heart into a leap. "I healed the wounds with magic, but they scarred themselves anyway – like some sort of enchantment. Can the dragons watch over him?"

Eragon nodded. _Cuaroc?_ The metal man stepped out from behind the castle doors and clanked along the jetty, taking the youth and hatchling from Arya and returning the way he'd come, presumably to bring the pair to the infirmary. _If he even knows where it is. He never leaves that vault. _"How did he get hurt?" Eragon asked. "Were you attacked?"

Arya shook her head. "No. We found him washed ashore the Az Ragni like this. The dragon hatched for him the second we brought him near the saddlebags by accident. So far he yet remains unconscious; the healers at Hedarth could do nothing. I thought the Eldunarí might recognize if there's any magic on the scars."

_The hatchling has not left his side, _Fírnen added. He and Saphira were now watching intently. _It insists on repeatedly showing us this image. _A picture of the young man lying prone on the banks of a river appeared through their link.

"Strange," shrugged Eragon. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough." He looked at Fírnen again. "You grew!"

_I did._

"You're about as big as Saphira now! She sort of slowed down and stopped getting so much bigger so fast."

Saphira sniffed. _Happens to the best of us._

Arya gave a tinkling laugh and took Eragon's hand. "Show us around?"

"Of course." They walked up the pier, two on as many legs and two on four, and through the massive doors of Doru Breoaldras's citadel. For the next hour, Eragon and Saphira guided Arya and Fírnen through the castle. They visited every room; the library, infirmary, dining hall, vaults, and the dragonroost, among others. Eventually they took flight through the training field, the forest, and the gardens.

As the sky darkened, Eragon motioned for everyone to land at the pier once more. Once he was on his feet, he asked Arya: "Will you stay here until they arrive?"

"Aye, she said. "After all, I still can tell you about the students and help set aside space for them all." She hesitated. "And, of course, the longer I'm here, the better." Eragon thought he saw some color in her cheeks as she smiled shyly.

After a moment, he shrugged. "We could set you two up in a room, then – that is, if you're tired." He raised his eyebrows at Fírnen.

_Not quite, _the dragon replied. Arya made no move to argue, so they went to the Hall where the Riders would soon gather after training to eat and rest. It was by far one of the biggest chambers in the city-fortress, equaled or exceeded only by the vaults, the caves behind the dragonroost, and the main entryway, where the dragons and Riders were meant to be able to assemble in force on short notice.

The Hall consisted of a combination of light brown mountain stone and flame-resistant synthetic wood, dark and rich like cider in fall. A frame of pillars flanked several long tables, and farther back was a couched area for both dragon and Rider to recline. Doors led off on either side at multiple points in the room, three or four spaced out evenly on a wall. It was a dimly lit affair, for both mood and the purpose of being easy on the eyes. Legions of the red flameless Erisdar lanterns hung from the ceiling and bracketed to pillars.

Upon entry to this, which Eragon thought one of the most aesthetically pleasing rooms in the castle, he and Arya walked past the tables and to the common area, followed by Saphira and Fírnen. the two dragons were having a lengthy conversation in private through mindspeak, and curled up side by side on a large pallet near the back of the hall. Eragon thought it best to give them a wide berth, so he sat on a couch at what he deemed an appropriately respectful distance. What surprised him was when Arya sat to his left, close enough so that their bare arms brushed as she did so, sending a jolt from his skin to his heart. All his pent-up feelings for her had been working their way into the fore of his mind in the past hour and a half, and now… he hadn't felt this way since his reckless attempts to woo her in Ellesméra. A hint of a smile crossed his face. _How foolish I was how young and foolish… and look at me, I still am._

Trying to distract himself, he turned to Arya. "So, tell me of the new Riders. Who are they?"

She pushed a lock of sable hair behind her ear. "There is much I could tell you about each. I can be brief now to include them all if you like. First is Opheila. She came to us in Teirm." As Arya talked, she opened the palm of her left hand and green sparks danced around her fingertips. "She was the daughter of a mercenary, a guard on the trade ships. She had certain skills, but beyond that we knew nothing until the silver egg hatched for her. The dragon is Thera, a female. They are a collected and intelligent pair, and very skilled in spellcasting."

"And the other human?"

"Beq, from Feinster. He was a blacksmith's apprentice, a dark, chiseled boy. He rarely speaks, but the purple egg bonded to him and the dragon talks enough for both of them." A tone of slight amusement came to her voice. "Naroki is also female. She is loquacious and very ambitious – somewhat of a counter."

Eragon could feel her relaxing now that she was opening up to him; Arya was gradually leaning more on his shoulder with her own. He was thankful that the Eldunarí had withdrawn from his mind – they'd have a thing or two to say about his thoughts, especially Glaedr.

"The dwarf is called Astrid," Arya continued. "She is Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, I believe, and hails from Tronjheim, so you two are practically related. Cheerful, kind, even jovial unceasingly. She strikes me as someone whose spirits are not easily dampened. Ragnar, her dragon, is male – the brown egg. He is a little more aggressive and temperamental, but I suppose opposites do attract occasionally. They work well together, not surprisingly."

"And the Urgal initiate?" Eragon asked. "What of them?"

The elf blinked. "He is a bit harder to read. Vaas is his name; he is Garzvhog's nephew. He is a battle-proven ram, but not yet considered an adult by aging standards. He is also Kull. I'll give you a minute to imagine the state of his dragon."

Here Eragon winced. "Has its spine curved inward?"

Arya laughed. "No, thankfully. Ithros hatched from the black egg. He is an unusually heavy and wide dragon, and grew faster than his fellows, I would guess to accommodate his… rather large Rider."

The human grinned. "How do they connect? Counter or match?"

"Match, as far as I can tell. Both determined and possessing of an affinity for battle, yet not bloodthirsty. perfect for a Rider who must fight often."

"I was worried that all the Urgal Riders would fall into that role," Eragon sighed. "Still, it suits them." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "And last is the boy from the river. This will be an… interesting first class."

"Indeed. Do not be resigned to tribulations, however – you have me and the elves, as well as Angela to help you and the Eldunarí to teach them."

"So she does plan on showing up here!" Eragon exclaimed. "I'd wondered when she would get bored."

"Apparently, Elva hasn't been misbehaving enough to keep her busy," Arya agreed.

A moment passed in silence. Having run out of evasions, Eragon gave up and let himself ask after her. "How are you, Arya? What was it like to train them?"

She shifted in her seat, and Eragon noticed her leg pressing gently against his. "I did what I could. It was not dissimilar to ferrying Saphira's egg around was, but it's much faster on dragonback. They learned quickly; those who I taught are at or above the knowledge you learned from Brom." A pause. "I am proud of them."

Hesitantly, Eragon put his hand on hers. "As well you should be," he said quietly. "Thank you for teaching them what he taught me." For a minute, he expected her to end the contact, as she had at their campfire on the way back from Helgrind, but she did not. In fact, she drew her legs up and sat with them crossed beneath her to turn and lean across him.

"It is good to see you again, Eragon," Arya said earnestly. "I have missed you."

His mouth found the words after a second. "I missed you too. More than I care to admit."

A curiously vulnerable expression crossed Arya's face. She laid a hand on the side of his jaw, as she had long ago when he told her he was leaving. "I once told you I needed time," she said slowly. "When we talked of our feelings. It has been two years. I've had my time. And," Arya switched to the ancient language. "I feel the same way."

In a single, fluid movement, Arya took his face in both of her hands and drew it to hers. Eragon could feel her hands shaking, but she seemed to overcome her nervousness. Then she leaned even closer and kissed him. A thousand thoughts ran electrified through Eragon's head, but somehow he didn't feel the need to stop and contemplate them. He kissed back, wrapping his arms around her waist and assuming the pose he had seen Roran and Katrina take many times - eyes closed, intertwined, and content. Arya's warm, soft lips moved against his own, and in a second their minds met in a similar manner. He now felt what she felt, and she what he felt also. An overwhelming emotion gripped him, and he was faced with the staggering depth of their combined feelings for one another. He did not try to harness or control it. He simply let go and breathed in the scent of forest.

As if by mutual agreement, they broke away at the exact same instant. Arya's face was flushed, her green eyes sparkling in the lamplight, and a nervous smile worked its way onto her face. Eragon knew he must look much the same; his grin tugged at his ears.

_Well, it's about time, _said Saphira. Both Riders wheeled to face the dragons, who were considering them with expressions that could only be described as smug.

_I guess I owe you those deer, _Fírnen agreed. _I thought it would take longer._

_For a kiss? _scoffed the blue dragon. _Not likely. Look at them! The second they're alone without our attentions, they're raring to go. Why, I'm surprised that – _

"Yes, yes, we get it!" Eragon interrupted hastily, the tips of his ears burning. "We…" he looked at the floor, then at Arya. "We should probably get some sleep. It's late."

Arya cleared her throat and stood. "Indeed. Could you… could you find Fírnen and myself a room?"

Eragon got to his feet and offered her his arm. "Certainly." She slipped her elbow through his and they departed the Hall, dragons trailing triumphantly behind. When they reached a room close to Eragon and Saphira's tower that was big enough for Fírnen, Eragon opened the door. "Here we are. Make yourselves at home." Fírnen nuzzled Saphira's snout and ducked through the archway.

Arya pulled her arm free and turned to him. "Good night, Eragon."

"Good night." On impulse, Eragon leaned forward and kissed her again. What was intended to be a quick peck on the lips turned longer as she held him there by the collar of his vest. After a few more seconds, she pulled away, smiling warmly. He returned the gesture and promptly backed into Saphira's shins as he started walking away. Once he had righted himself, Eragon heard the door shut gently behind him.

_It was going to happen at some point, _crowed Saphira. _I called it!_

_Yeah, well… _Eragon ran his fingers through his hair. _I knew we couldn't ignore you and Fírnen for long, but also all that's between us made it seem a little more unlikely. Don't blame me for being surprised._

After a pause, he heard: _She really cares for you, you know. You were too… busy to look at her thoughts earlier, but she was as addled as you were back in Ellesméra after the Agaetí Blöhdren. For someone who used to say you two could never be, she certainly enjoyed your kissing._

Eragon was whistling cheerfully to himself all the way up the steps to his tower.


	4. Three: The Boy in the River

**Dictionary and Pronunciation Guide**

**_Letta_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_stop_**** ; Le-TAH**

**_Geuloth du knifr_ ; Ancient Language; _dull the knife_ ; GEW-loth du KNI-fur**

**Stenr reïsa ; Ancient Language ; Stone, rise ; STENr REY-isa**

**Chapter Three: The Boy in the River**

**Eragon**

Saphira's roar woke Eragon with a start. _Get up! Something's wrong! _

Rolling out of bed onto his feet, Eragon snatched up Brisingr. _Where?_

_The infirmary, _Glaedr's voice said in his mind. _Hurry! The human hatchling may be in danger – he's having some kind of a seizure and we can't do anything for him!_

Throwing himself down the stairs over the railing, Eragon yelled, "Letta!" and his body turned upright, slowing before he hit the ground. As his feet settled on the stone floor, Arya and Fírnen bolted out of their room further down the hallway and Saphira landed behind him with a resounding _thud_. The four exchanged looks and both Riders and dragons hastened to the infirmary.

Bursting through the door, Eragon saw Cuaroc's huge metal body blocking his way. The dragon-man stood uselessly next to the cot where the dark-haired youth lay. The boy was shaking uncontrollably, writhing with violent unpredictability. The amber dragon hatchling was crouched on the floor, where it must have fallen, yowling at its bondmate, who was unresponsive.

"Hold him down before he hurts himself!" Arya said from behind him. Eragon pushed past Cuaroc and the baby dragon and lifted the thin youth off the cot. He locked his arms under the shoulders of the strange, harness-like armor, fighting to hold them both still.

Arya came forward and put a hand on the boy's forehead, murmuring something in the ancient language. After a moment, the seizure slowed, until he only twitched every few seconds. Grunting, Eragon set him down. His lean frame was surprisingly compact and heavy.

"Think he'll be alright?" he asked. Curious, the amber dragon crawled up to him, nudging his hand. It mewled when he picked it up and regarded him with intelligent eyes.

Arya patted it on the head. "He should, and, hopefully, he'll wake soon."

_What happened to him? _Fírnen wondered aloud.

_I doubt even he will be able to explain it,_ said Glaedr. _Come, we must-_

Under the mess of black hair hanging over his face, the youth's eyes shot open, a startlingly lucid hazel. Cold fear shone through them, and a mental ray Eragon had not been expecting stabbed through his defenses and immobilized him. Arya and Cuaroc froze similarly, and Saphira's snarl was all he heard before the memory blotted everything else out.

_The children ran, chasing each other among the stones. _

_Laughter filled the air around them, bringing light and joy to the ruins in which they played. Far away now was the jungle filled with danger; the poison in the air that made their people grow lean and hard. Far away were the dark hours when they had been taught to heft their lanterns and walk cloaked among the adults, in a procession reverent of gods among men they knew little of._

_A boy no more than ten raced ahead of his peers, sprinting in accordance with his build – a combination of difficult living and youthful energy. Behind him, the others cheered or snarled, but they all doubled their efforts to keep pace. _

_Soon they reached the edge of the stone courtyard, where the roots and vines began to creep in between the flagstones. The forest loomed, shadowy, foreboding. Gradually, the children slowed down, halting at the border, peering timorously into the shade. _

_The boy, panting, hands resting on his knees, looked up at the blue sky. A great black bird took flight from the tree nearest to him, spiraling with every flap of its ebony wings. _

_Captivated, he watched even as his companions began the trek back to their mothers' skirts. An old, ancestral longing for the expanse and freedom of the sky shone on his upturned face, wondering, dreaming of flight for the first – but surely not the last – time._

Eragon wrested free of the memory, so surprised by the assault on his mind that he hadn't had time to throw up his defenses. He waited, but no further attacks came. Probing, he found only one unfamiliar consciousness in the area: the youth with the scars, who was clutching his head as if he'd just been struck. "Who else saw that?" he asked, glancing at Arya.

"I did," she answered. "I don't know what to make of it."

_Fírnen and I saw it, too, _said Saphira. _The Eldunarya have gone_ _ballistic. Glaedr and Umaroth are trying to calm them down. _She said this so all could hear, and Eragon saw the boy flinch.

"I saw it," he said slowly. "It's a memory."

"Yours?" Arya asked.

"Only one I've got." He stood up shakily, but then backpedaled at the sudden sight of Cuaroc, whose sword was still leveled at where the intruder had stood. The boy settled for standing with his back pressed against the wall. "Where am I?"

"A safe place," Eragon said quickly. "It'll be easier to explain if you come with us." He shoved Cuaroc aside and thrust out a hand. "Eragon."

Thee youth hesitated, and shook it. "Ayel," he returned grudgingly. "I guess I owe my name to you all anyway. I don't mean to be dodgy, it's just one of the few things I remember." His eyes flicked to Arya, then to the dragons watching from the doorway.

Noticing this, Arya sheathed Támerlein. "I am Arya," she offered. "The metal brute over there is Cuaroc. He is harmless even when he's not paralyzed, so don't mind his sword in your face. It's a matter of caution."

Ayel nodded. "And the dragons?"

_He's taking all this rather well, _Fírnen commented.

At that, Ayel crossed his arms. _Standing_ _right here. _Eragon and Arya jumped, but Fírnen just made the trilling growl in his throat that passed for dragon laugher.

"Where did you learn to use your mind to speak?" Eragon asked, wary of more surprises.

Shaking his head, Ayel smiled sadly. "I have absolutely no idea."

_Interesting, _said Saphira. She and Fírnen introduced themselves, and made sure to mention the absent Eldunarí before one of them surprised the newcomer.

Ayel bowed to both dragons with the back of his right hand on his forehead. "It is an honor, firebreathers," he said almost reverently.

_I like him,_ said Saphira. As she said this, the amber hatchling – now the size of the average dog – gave a throaty squeak from the blankets on the cot. Ayel reached over and scratched it behind the ears.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he began. "But last I heard, the Riders were no longer with us."

A presence descended on the minds of the people in the room. Glaedr spoke. _You speak as if you have the knowledge of one from Alegaësia, yet your memories must be truly gone, for the past five or six years have been full of change. Regardless, you know of both dragons and Riders. How is this?_

"When you are raised in the manner that I was, it's a-" the youth frowned. "That's funny. I thought I remembered something." He tilted his head to the side and shook it, as if to let water fall out of his ears. "Um… can we go outside? I… don't like small spaces," he added, grinning sheepishly.

"That would probably be for the best, said Arya. "Let us go."

For the next hour, Eragon and Arya walked the castle grounds with Ayel in tow. The hatchling nipped at his heels and ran rings around Saphira and Fírnen. As they explained to him both _where_ and _what_ he was, he didn't seem too surprised – even holding a kind of reverence for dragons and Riders, as if he had been brought up to respect them exclusively.

Apart from this, he was quick-witted, intelligent, and altogether likeable, which only made Eragon more uneasy. Something didn't sit right about the memory he'd seen in Ayel's mind – and the youth himself seemed almost _too_ adaptive to his new surroundings and knowledge.

_You're being paranoid,_ said Glaedr privately.

_I can't help this sort of vague distrust I'm feeling._

_I imagine he feels the same way. _The golden dragon showed him a picture of a flock of birds. _When a new one joins the flock, it must work twice as hard to earn its place._

_Then if he's to be a Rider, we'll need to train him fast to catch him up. At least he's willing to be taught. _Eragon called to Arya and Ayel, who were walking ahead of him with the dragons trailing behind. "Follow me for a moment – we need to get things moving."

They went to the training field, a flat patch of grass under a slight overhang behind the main keep. As a stone door came into view, Eragon whispered, "Ládrin." _Open. _The stone slid to the side almost silently and revealed a rather cluttered assortment of Riders' swords. He gathered the few that seemed to match the hatchling's scales and carried them to the center of the field.

"Go ahead and choose a blade from these," he told Ayel. The youth raised an eyebrow. "We're fighting already?"

"I need to gauge your skill level so I know how much to focus on hand-to-hand combat," explained Eragon. "With magic I know we'll have to start from scratch, but this is another matter entirely. If you can defend yourself, we can spar less often than if you can't."

Ayel shrugged and picked through the pile of swords. "Yuck," he said to an arming sword that was the most inaccurate color – a pale, apricot hue. "No," as a single-edged shortsword followed. "Too mainstream," was the verdict on a hand-and-a-half sword. The eventual winner was a longsword, suitable for slashing or thrusting, with an unusally long hilt, likely customized by its previous owner, that allowed both hands but was comfortable for one.

Its blade was the color of light cider, and its crossguard curved slightly to trap an opponent's blade in a disarming hook. The hilt was wrapped in thin leather and its pommel inset with an amber gemstone. "Ah! This'll do." Ayel gave the sword an experimental swing. "There's an inscription. Can you read it?"

Etched into the ricasso at the base of the blade were a few glyphs in the Liduen Kvaedhí. Eragon squinted at the meticulous penmanship. "Hljödhr, that this weapon may bring silent end to the enemies of peace." He gestured to the blade. "_Silent_ is the sword's name. It'd probably be best not to scream and wave it about when you're in battle." This purchased a small smirk form the sword's wielder. "Now let me show you how to block its edge."

Eragon demonstrated the spell by blocking Brisingr. "Brightsteel is durable and fighting edge-on-edge won't dent or notch the blade, but this is for our protection. It can cut through flesh and bone indiscriminately."

Ayel placed his thumb and forefinger on the blade of his sword. It took him a few tries, but on the fourth (and most frustrated) "Gëuloth du knifr!" a yellow spark zigzagged down the blade and the invisible shield flickered.

"Good," said Eragon, pleased; he had not expected Ayel to succeed, but reasoned that the boy evidently had experience with magic, or at least mentalism. "Now defend yourself." He took a stance and Ayel did his best to mirror it. They stared at each other for a moment, then the hatchling dragon sneezed and Eragon pounced.

Ayel deflected the first strike, albeit clumsily, but let his sword be batted down. Rather than crush his skull with Brisingr there and then, Eragon switched direction and slashed at the youth's thigh. The blue sword rang on contact with Hljödhr as Eragon realized that Ayel's sagging sword arm had been a ruse. _He knows he's being tested and he's clever or experienced enough to be manipulative with it. _Eragon grinned. _He's in for a shock, then._

He delivered a series of rapid blows to the side, slowing them down so Ayel could parry, and then, instead of changing direction again, rapped him on the hip with the flat of Brisingr's blade. Ayel grimaced and countered, but Eragon blocked him easily. The next few exchanges went in a similar manner.

As they dueled, Ayel started to become more comfortable with Hljödhr, and his reflexes became smoother and faster. He seemed to have been taught an intentionally unpredictable fighting style, and was proficient to some degree. Eragon eased into using more and more of his usual speed and strength, and once Ayel was unable to keep up, he flicked Brisingr to the initiate's throat, holding it there.

"Well done," he said honestly. "Whoever taught you wasn't wasting their time. However, it seems your instruction wasn't complete yet – even interrupted, judging by the fact that you're clearly rusty. We can limit sparring to a match a day for now, though – you're at least able to defend yourself against anyone except an elf or a Shade, which is more than most men of fifteen years can say."

Ayel was perspiring slightly and resting his hands on his sword's pommel to breathe. "You're sure you don't have elvish blood yourself?" he wheezed.

"Positive."

"Well then you're easily the best swordfighter I've had the fortune to duel," said the youth. "Not that I can remember anyone else, but my muscles are as reliable a judge as my mind."

Eragon chuckled. "If you think so, we can have you fight Arya next to set your opinion straight."

Arya came up behind him. "That's sweet, but I don't think we should be killing him yet." She held a pebble in her hand. "Ready for the next lesson?"

Coughing, Ayel straightened up. "Still coming, ma'am. Is there a sheath to this sword?"

It took Eragon all of ten seconds to rummage through the armory and find a sheath with elvish glyphs matching Hljödhr's. He tossed it to Ayel, who slid the sword into it and set it down by the hatchling, who sniffed at it curiously. "Okay. Hit me."

Arya slapped him across the face.

"Ow!" He rubbed his jaw. "I meant, tell me what to do!"

"Sorry," said Arya. "I'm not familiar with human figures of speech." She offered him the pebble. At the sight of her raising a hand, he flinched, but then took the rock. "Your task is to levitate the pebble in the air using magic. The words you will use are: stenr reïsa."

"Stenr reïsa," Ayel murmured.

"Yes. Remain here and contact one of us when you have succeeded. We'll leave your dragon with you, but we should start the next cycle's patrol." Arya touched Eragon's mind. _Cuaroc can watch him while we're out. I think I may have an idea as to where he is from._

_Alright, where – _as they walked to Saphira and Fírnen, Eragon was interrupted by Ayel's sudden shouting. "Stenr reïsa… stenr reïsa!" He whooped. "I got it! Look!" The pebble was floating an inch above his palm. As they watched, it dropped back into his hand.

Taken aback by the speed with which Ayel had picked it up, Eragon thought quickly for another exercise to keep him busy. _I'll have to challenge him a bit. _"Now for the second step. Watch closely." He raised a hand to the overhang and uttered, "Stenr reïsa!"

A chunk of rock the size of a wheelbarrow snapped off the sheer cliff face and floated down gently. At the same time, Ayel's pebble lifted from his hand and shot under the boulder, trapping itself beneath it as the larger stone landed. The youth stepped back, wide eyed.

Eragon smiled. "Now move _your_ rock again." He pulled himself onto Saphira. "Cuaroc should be around here somewhere. If you can't reach us, he'll mind you. And it doesn't matter how long it takes you to do this, he added. "Just remember what we told you about magic – don't expend your energy. This is well beyond your current ability. Don't be dismayed if you have to keep at it a while."

Almost as an afterthought, he took the pocket dictionary he'd made of the ancient language from his saddlebags and threw it to Ayel, who caught it reflexively. "If you need to figure out an incantation, use this. Be careful of your grammar."

_You trust him with that? _Saphira asked, but not incredulously.

_He's honest. I can tell a lot about a man by how he fights. Ayel's clever, but he fights almost like a berserker – no concern for himself beyond reason. He's trained to protect, and that takes altruism. So, yes, I trust him._

As they flew away, Ayel's voice carried in the wind, alternating between cursing and trying out new words in the ancient language. Soon, though, they were out of earshot and nothing but the rushing of the air around them made a sound. Saphira let out a coughing growl, laughing.

_What is it? _Eragon inquired.

_Seeing the three of you reminded me of Brom teaching you how to fight and cast spells. Except for one thing._

_What would that be?_

_You're a lot less gruff and intimidating._

Eragon smiled. _I suppose I am. _He and Saphira banked left and Arya guided Fírnen ahead of them, flying low over a peninsula, which hosted a grove of pine and birch trees between the mountains and one of the wings of the lake that tapered into a river. They crossed the fjord and took to the open sky.

After completing the patrol circuit without incident, the four returned to the jetty and landed. When the Riders dismounted, Saphira and Fírnen flew up to the dragonroost.

"I was wondering how long that would take," said Eragon.

Arya smiled and beckoned to him. "Come on." They walked to the library, a dusty, dark room with bookshelves half-full spanning from the floor to the ceiling. The walls were covered with rich dark oak paneling, and an Erisdar chandelier hung over a long glass table. On the table was Eragon's own copy of _Domia abr Wyrda_, left open in the middle of a prattling chapter about elves, which was sadly mostly fiction.

Eragon and Arya sat down at the table in adjacent chairs. His hand found hers, but they talked as if neither of them noticed it.

"I was thinking about the memory we saw," Arya began. "When you returned from Vroengard, you mentioned seeing a procession of hooded figures walking among the ruins. I caught an impression that something similar was involved from Ayel's mind."

"Lanterns," muttered Eragon. "A ritual… no, a vigil. Yes, I remember. It's possible, but we still don't know who they were."

"Ayel may be our answer."

Maybe, but it's probably best that we let him remember on his own. After all, there is a chance we're wrong."

They sat in silence for a moment. Every few seconds Eragon would see flashes from Saphira and though he'd experienced it before, it still served to bring heat to the tips of his ears. "Perhaps dragons can mate for life," said Arya, gazing out the window with a faraway look in her eyes.

"And elves?" Eragon raised an eyebrow.

She smiled coquettishly. "Perhaps." Spurred on by her proximity, Eragon leaned in to kiss her, but she dodged backward, teasing him. Her hair was tied back, but much of it still hung over her forehead and the sides of her face, swaying like pine branches in a breeze. "I am not so easily entrapped, O Rider." Eragon saw a playful gleam in her eyes, a mischievous purse to her lips that he had not seen since years ago, when they had both gotten drunk on the elf Wyrden's special faelnirv.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked quizzically, a sinister edge creeping into his voice.

Arya stood. "Indeed." She reached forward and undid the top button of his collar, just to prove she was still faster than him, and then danced back, making for the door. "Catch me if you can." The elf turned and raced out of the library. Eragon pushed his chair back and leapt up to give chase, a foolish grin already spreading on his face.

He cleared the door and spotted Arya, black hair aflying, moving quickly down the hallway toward the next corner, which led past the infirmary to the dining hall.

Running after her, Eragon turned the corner with his hands as much as his feet, swinging around the bend for additional speed. Ever ahead of him, Arya flung open the doors to the dining hall commons, and seconds later he shouldered through them close behind her. Past the couches and down the aisle between the long tables they ran, feinting and ducking around pillars like children.

Eragon got close enough and reached out, missing Arya's shoulder by a hairsbreadth. Arya laughed, clear and ringing, bending like a cat to avoid his grasp. Then they were out the main doors and she made a hard left. And another. They bolted down the selfsame hallway they had started in, from the opposite direction.

Eragon caught her when they reached the library threshold, jumping nimbly and tackling her at the waist. Arya squealed in amusement and turned, kicking his legs from under him so that he cushioned her fall. They rolled upon the stone floor, wrestling like dogs fighting for scraps. Occasionally their lips would meet during the melee.

Tumbling into the library itself, soft carpet began to shield them from the hard stone floor, while also slowing their general momentum. Now Arya's mouth stayed against Eragon's without much trouble. Even with the erratic, jarring experience of rolling haphazardly through the room, Eragon could feel her respond to the contact. Eventually they came to a halt, and his head bumped against his discarded chair. Arya, half on top of him, pulled away. Both of them grinned.

After a moment during which they held each other's gaze, Eragon gave her a slanted look and, in a high, snooty voice, said: "We can never be, Eragon… forget me and focus on your training, Eragon… we're friends and nothing more, Eragon."

Arya flinched, but then a sheepish smile made its way onto her face. "Perhaps both of us were fools then," she said, giving him a hand up but pushing him into the chair so that she could sit on his lap.

"We're all fools at one time or another," said Eragon, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"True, but that doesn't make it any better when it is your turn to play dunce." Her eyes softened. "I'm sorry for how I always treated you when you tried to talk with me."

He smiled. "What does it matter now?"

Another moment passed. They seemed content to sit in quiet companionship.

Suddenly a sharp noise broke the silence. Eragon's head snapped to the side and Arya leapt to her feet, her hand on Támerlein's pommel. They both found its source, a small, round object on the table beside them. Ayel was leaning casually against the doorway, pretending to study his nails. Eragon had no idea how long his student had been standing there.

"What is that?" asked Arya.

Ayel grinned. "It's my rock."


	5. Four: In With the Tide

**Chapter Four fully updated with all corrections made and all continuity errors destroyed! Enjoy!**

**Pronunciation Guide and Dictionary:**

_**Eka huildr ne**_**_íat_ ; Ancient Language ; _Hold me not_ ; Eh-ka HOO-ILL-dur NEY-aht**

**Chapter Four: In With the Tide**

**Ayel**

_Explosions rocked the ancient stone ruins. Earth and rock were tossed into the air like seeds being sown unto the land below. People ran in between the spires in their panic, ducking to avoid debris. Black-robed figures moved in the crowd, torchlight glinting off their weapons. There were others, much fewer, in robes of navy blue – but they were cut down when they tried to fight; having been ambushed on a skeleton guard. _

_The boy left his younger sisters in an abandoned fox den, hiding in the undergrowth at the tree line of the jungle. They reached for him as he ran out, too scared to follow. He weaved around the boulders and chunks of masonry, his dark brown clothing blending in with wood where there was any. On his short legs, he caught up to his father, who held a lantern in one hand and a naked sword in the other. _

_ "__What are you doing here, son?" he said quietly. His chiseled face was beset by a ghost of a beard; he was, in essence, his son in adult form. "Get back to safety with the others. The jungle is better than the streets for you. Go," he said sternly as his urgings were met with a stalwart expression._

_ "__I want to fight." Another blast hit the ground. The boy didn't move._

_His father dropped the lantern to steer him around by the shoulder. "You're too young, Ayel. This is no place for an eleven-year-old. I swear to you by Vrael's seat on high that none of our enemies will show you mercy. Now get out of here!" As he gave the boy a firm shove, sending him reeling into the shadows, a cloaked man leapt from the shadows, wielding a pale, leaf-shaped blade. Ayel's father cursed, sidestepped the reaching apex of the sword, and slew his assailant with a single, powerful thrust to the gut. He managed to pull his sword free in time to block the next enemy's opening strike. They stumbled, trying to find purchase among the loose stone beneath them while also attempting to effectively kill each other._

_Ayel ran behind a pillar and watched, unwilling to leave as well as fascinated by his father's prowess. The enemy came at him from all sides, but he slew one after another, using their numbers to crowd them together and fight one at a time. When they fell, he noticed most were not human – something black and shriveled and dark. One of them, the first one to die, was shinier – like a beetle – and had an enormous beak protruding from its cowl. He shuddered. Only the legends and songs of men could bring to life in his mind what he saw… before today. The creatures his father fought, including but not limited to the (luckily) single Ra'zac, were bred to kill. _

_A shout from the boy's sire; a new combatant had entered the observatory. His compatriots having all been slain, he drew his own weapon to engage the lone defender of the city. This challenger was a tall, broad-shouldered human man, wedded to war and armored for it in twisted black plates, resembling the nature of his minions. Form his shoulders hung a black mantle, and on his head was a red helm in the shape of a dragon's head. Steely eyes glinted from its maw._

_ "__Melkaroth," said Ayel's father. "I should have known. What do you hope to accomplish by this siege?"_

_The metal-clad giant smiled. "You once swore that one of your line would bring an end to me. I only came to insure that your oath remains unfulfilled." He paused, as if thoughtful. "Oh, yes… and to take the city, kill your men, and enslave your women and children." He struck with a long broadsword, matte black and already smeared with red from previous conquests. It moved impossibly fast, but was deflected expertly. "Come now, Cadmon," Melkaroth intoned, sounding bored and tired. "It's useless."_

_Cadmon made a sign with his left hand. "I am duty-bound as a steward of the Order to bring you to justice, Dark Lord. With the spirits of the Riders as my witness, I will try." The two men exchanged blows, but neither found an advantage. Oddly, they fought like old friends who knew each other's style so well they couldn't gain any ground. Although Cadmon's armor was meager compared to his opponent's – a tunic, bracers, and greaves made of leather – he faced him unafraid._

_ "__This really is a waste of our time," said Melkaroth, his voice as deep as the fire shafts of Aras Thelduin. "Where is your son?"_

_ "__My line will not fall to you, parasite." Cadmon's tone was cold and angry. He slashed diagonally across Melkaroth's chestplate, but the claymore was wide enough to turn his blade away. _

_ "__So futile," sighed Melkaroth with a tone of mild regret. He raised a hand and uttered, "Garjzla!" A shaft of black light lanced from his palm and speared Cadmon through the heart, so that he fell to his knees and died._

_ "__No!" the boy cried out. He drew a short hunting knife from his scuffed leather belt and flung himself over his father's body. Melkaroth's eyes widened, the satisfaction melting off his face. In his surprise he was given enough pause so that Ayel's strike could land, glancing off his flanged pauldron and leaving a long scratch that shone silver where the black finish was chipped._

_An armored hand seized the boy's throat, lifted him up to eye level with the black-garbed warrior, and began to ever so slightly choke him. "Interesting," Melkaroth mused. "Perhaps you'll live so you may be broken." He barked a twisted, harsh command in another language: two cloaked soldiers sprang out from behind the pillars and snatched the boy, beaks clicking nastily. A blow landed in his head, and darkness took him._

Ayel's eyes snapped open as the floor rushed up to meet him. It jarred his body on impact, but he managed to turn his face aside so he wouldn't break his nose on the hardwood. A mess of black hair fell in front of him, almost long enough to get in the way of his eyes. He levered himself up, sitting with his back to the bed. The darkness of the early morning and the vivid memory he'd dreamed unnerved him. He did not want to move or expose his spine.

A questing tendril touched his mind. It was the dragon, watching him from its perch across the room. Over the week its squeaks had deepened into roars, its claws and fangs lengthened into daggers, its scales hardened like iron. Its shoulder had been level with his elbow the day before; soon it would be big enough to ride in the air. Eragon and Arya had remarked that it grew faster than they had thought it would.

He waved it off, but, when it persisted, grudgingly showed it the memory. After a moment a voice entered the bridge between their minds. _Ayel._ It was distinctly male, and not as deep as Fírnen's, but surprisingly musical. It had a kind of rumbling undertone that made it seem like a bass chord was being struck with every word.

The boy blinked. _Did you just speak to me?_

_I don't know. Did I? _The dragon stared at him, unmoving.

_I didn't know you could. Am I right in thinking you're male?_

_Yes. _A puff of smoke drifted out if the dragon's nostrils as he snorted.

_Would you like a name?_

_My name is Jeran._

This took Ayel by surprise. Most dragons, apparently, were named by their Riders. _You knew that?_

_I always have. _Jeran sounded rather amused. _Did you not expect it of me?_

_Not exactly,_ said Ayel, getting to his feet and pulling on his leggings and tunic. _It never occurred to me that you might already have one, that's all. How long have you been able to think in words?_

_Not long. We're growing._

_Aye. Pretty quickly, from what I heard._

_It's because we have to._

_What?_

_I don't know. I just thought it._

Belting on Hljödhr, Ayel opened the door to the chamber. Jeran jumped down and padded alongside him, claws clicking against the stone floor of the hallway as they walked to the training field. The sun peeked over the edge of the horizon and faintly shone through the windows, bathing the passageway in a pale yet warm light. They were able to enjoy speaking back and forth about the events of the previous days, rather than using emotions, impressions, and pictures: a lengthy and annoying impediment at the best of times.

Over the past days, Arya and Eragon had put Ayel and Jeran through their paces to reach the end of tuatha du orothrim before the arrival of their fellow students. Each morning, Ayel and Jeran would split up to be coached separately. Sometimes Ayel stayed with Arya and Eragon and Jeran flew with Fírnen and Saphira, sometimes the other way around. Today, whichever it turned out to be, would be as grueling as those before it.

With Eragon, Ayel first went into the forest and opened his mind to the life there for one hour. The resulting flood of information was usually chaotic and frustrating, but what he managed to glean he told Eragon on his return. There would be a duel, sometimes with Arya and sometimes with Eragon. Ayel would lose, and then Arya would sit him down and instruct him on various terms of magic. A mock wizard's duel would be staged, and by then the dragons would join them.

With Fírnen and Saphira, Ayel would fly on one of their backs and listen to them explain flight patterns and battle tactics on dragonback. He'd also learn the history of dragonkind and many things about them – this was where the Eldunarí would pitch in. Later he'd merge with their many minds and observe memory after memory. Some of these he was not sure how to react to, others had a clear point from the moment he began to experience them. As for the Eldunarí themselves, Glaedr and Umaroth were the most talkative to him, with a businesslike teaching attitude. The others regarded him and his past with wary caution, although Valdr seemed rather fond of him and Jeran.

When they met up after being alone, Ayel would exchange information with Jeran and them they would all duel mentally in different combinations. The remaining time was spent drilling Ayel with scenarios involving enemies and other encounters. Once his strategy was satisfactory, he was dismissed with any number of scrolls to read on everything from the ancient language's grammar structure to the clan rituals of Urgals.

The pace was rigorous, but Ayel was determined and threw himself into his studies. To compete in this world was life or death, and he was jumping on the bandwagon late, so he did his best to excel. Jeran was well-rounded in most examination, but had a brazen, reckless pride that spawned not arrogance but mere overconfidence. Ayel, when he could focus, was able to sense and defend himself from other minds easily. His forest vigils were somewhat more fruitless, owing to a short attention span, but his skill with a sword improved exponentially. Unfortunately, he was still far inferior to the likes of Eragon and Arya. If he lost too painfully, he reminded himself that the only way he'd improve was by fighting people better than him. Nevertheless, the repeated sensation of Brisingr or Támerlein at his throat stung his pride even more than his skin. He enjoyed his flights with the dragons, basking in the radiant landscape and feeling pure joy come off them in waves as they cartwheeled through the sky. The memories of the Eldunarí were particularly comforting – after all, he hardly had any of his own.

Despite his affinity for his lessons, Ayel was often easily distracted and paid the price for it in many a sparring match, mental or physical. Today, though, he seemed to do no wrong, apart from what was to be expected. As the hours wore on, he and Jeran began to shape into a much more effective pair, bolstered by the introduction of Jeran's speech. They constantly confided in one another, and soon they were each other's balm for every frustration. Ayel reined in Jeran and advised him on common sense, while Jeran pushed Ayel to be more confident and aggressive, especially in fighting. The day passed, then another just as quickly. With the morning after, the end of the thirteen day period arrived – the day that the _Talíta_ would come into port in the evening. Dawn broke with the heralding cry that, come sunset, a host of Riders, dragons, and others were at hand.

It was Ayel and Jeran who saw them first.

They were out on the jetty, and Ayel was practicing with a saddle, repeatedly fastening and removing it from Jeran's midriff. Jaren, to his credit, was patient outwardly, but Ayel could tell he was amused as his Rider struggled with the buckles and straps. _Maybe if you try about a hundred more times, you'll be able to get it without pinching your fingers in the clasp._

_Oh, shut up, you. _Ayel grimaced, his hands throbbing. _You can move now. I'm not taking it off until my thumbs heal._

The amber dragon sniffed the loop meant to hold Ayel's foot and then scratched at the saddle itself._ It's itchy. Can't you find another one?_

_You said all the others were "itchy" too. Until you grow some more, you'll have to deal with it. _Ayel sat down hard and leaned against the wooden posts of the guardrail, letting the breath whoosh out of his lungs. The sky was clear and the sun bright, beating the earth below them with waves of heat and thick air. Occasionally a breeze would offer some relief. It wasn't unbearable, but it was hot enough for Jeran, as a dragon, to be comfortable. Said dragon yawned and stretched like a cat. The three days since he'd started talking had seen him grow to Ayel's shoulder. The two hadn't flown yet, but today was as good a day as any… after a breather. They had been jumping through hoops for Eragon and Arya all morning, sparring, flying, wizard's duels, you name it – all to cram them with leftover knowledge in preparation for the arrival of the _Talíta_.

_What's that? _Jeran asked suddenly.

_What's what?_

_That sort of… speck. On the water._

_Let me see. _Ayel transferred his consciousness to Jeran's looking out with dragon eyesight and trying to ignore the even more prominent yellows and reds that screamed at him. When he saw the "speck" cutting through the water, his breath caught in his chest. Returning to his own mind, he sent a mental blast to all who could hear. _They're they are!_

Arya's voice answered instantly. _So soon?_

_We're coming, _Eragon assured him. _Hold on._

_No way, _said Jeran. _Ayel, get on my back. _The dragon stood up quickly. He was poised for takeoff, eagerly leaning into the wind.

_Are you sure?_

_You've flown before, yes?_

_With Saphira and Fírnen._

_Then climb on. I can hold you. _Jeran snorted sparks and crouched. Ayel swung into the saddle without hesitation. It was accommodating but heat from the sun burned through his leggings. He tugged at the collar of his tunic with his free hand, the cyan fabric as soft as anything beneath this fingers. With his other hand he buckled in his legs. _I'm good. Let's go!_

Jeran spread his wings and Ayel was immediately pitched backward as the dragon rose into the air, faster than he'd expected. Wind streamed past him, buffeting and forceful, yet exhilarating. He leaned to the side, and Jeran corkscrewed with it, a hitch of clumsiness involved due to his unfamiliarity with Ayel's added weight. When they righted themselves, they pulled into a steep dive, swooping past the _Talíta's_ broadside. A few elves shouted things like, "Argetlam!" or "Hail, Shur'tugal!" as they passed. Jeran rolled and listed upwards to gain altitude, beating his wings furiously against the air currents.

Ayel looked over his shoulder instinctively and saw patched of color shooting from the white ship. Here black, here purple, here silver, here brown. One by one the other dragons roared. Jeran answered at a slightly different octave, higher or lower depending on the dragon. As they twisted for a half turn and joined the group, about to dive again, Ayel couldn't help but shout for pure joy. He'd never flown this fast or recklessly before. A few of the other Riders shouted back, prompting him to look around. To his right were two humans: a thin girl and a bulky, dark-skinned boy. Beyond them was a smaller girl, whom he guessed to be a dwarf. To his left was a Urgal. _An Urgal! Eragon told me, but I didn't know I'd meet one of them as a Rider this fast! _When the Kull roared himself, he didn't sound too far off from the dragons.

The five shot upwards out of their free fall, coasting above them mountains with the citadel of Doru Breoaldras in full view. Sunlight glistened on the after and the colored windows of the Hall sent rays of gemstone hue onto the cliffs. Two more roars shook the sky, louder and deeper than the ones preceding. Saphira and Fírnen rose from the pinnacle of the dragonroost, the enormous dragons dwarfing their students. They took the lead point in the formation and banked right, leading the dragons in single file under the overhang behind the fortress. The training field passed below them, but before Ayel knew it, it was ahead of him again, as Jeran screamed into a vertical dive, following the other dragons and righting himself just in time to land.

The moment the dragon's claws touched soft grass, Ayel muttered "Huildr neíat," and the buckles holding his legs undid themselves.

Jeran huffed. _Showoff. _Ayel held up his thumbs and wiggled them in answer as he dismounted, looking around. Wind ruffled his hair and the turf beneath his feet. The overhang jutted out a third of the way across the clearing and the ground below it was flat and trampled from his duels with Eragon and Arya. Once out from under it, after about twenty yards the rocks began to appear and a steady incline brought to bear with the other end of the peak. The whole area was something like thirty-four yards in diameter, meaning it was large enough to fit many dragons, no exception to its present inhabitants.

Ayel was closest to the dwarven girl. She was not plump, but stout, and her blond tresses were braided into a dragon's tail. A symbol of crossed hammer and tongs was embroidered into her kirtle. She smiled, as if she was genuinely happy to see him even though she didn't know him. "Hello! You look better. Last time we saw you, you were out cold."

"And bleeding into the sand," added a gruff voice behind her. Up close, the Kull was like a wall of ochre skin, tattoos, and teeth. Two gnarled horns sprouted from thick black hair on his head. His muscles strained at his Shrrgskin jerkin. Although intimidating, he wasn't being outwardly aggressive, and Ayel had nothing against Urgals, so he held out his hand and found his entire forearm encased in a meaty fist. "Vaas," growled the giant. "We've met, but as Astrid so brilliantly pointed out, you were half dead."

"Some people –" Ayel jerked his head to Arya and Eragon. "- would argue that I still am, at least in my brain." The three of them laughed. "I'm Ayel. Well met." He exchanged similar greetings at Ithros and Ragnar, respectively the black and brown dragons, introduced themselves. Ithros's voice was a low, raspy rumble to match his heavyset appearance, while Ragnar had a higher voice than Jeran, sounding youthful even as an older dragon. He was gangly and had the look of a young stag in the fall. Jeran took to them quickly, and soon the three dragons were playfully shouldering each other quite hard. Ragnar body-slammed Jeran, who did the same to Ithros, who hit him back with such force that he was sent careening into Ragnar again. It was all very amusing.

A rippling pennant of fire split up the brawling dragons. Ayel felt the heat even though it came nowhere close to him. It had a silvery hue and he realized it came from the dragon of the same color. Its Rider, the human girl, was an arresting beauty, with burnished tawny hair and fair skin that stood out against her grey tunic and leggings. She walked alongside her dragon with easy confidence. "Impatient much? Can't you wait until we're _allowed_ to kill each other?" she said, smiling wryly.

The silver dragon only sniffed. _Boys, _said a feminine voice in Ayel's head. She managed to hold together a tone that was both smug and disapproving.

_Shut up, Thera,_ said Ragnar.

"Ragnar!" Astrid snapped. Thera gave a draconian laugh and lashed her tail back and forth, crouching as if to pounce.

_Come on, Astrid. She's baiting me, _the brown dragon whined.

Astrid turned to Thera's Rider helplessly. "Opheila…"

"Sorry." Opheila elbowed her dragon in the neck. Thera straightened, the picture of well-behaved puzzlement.

_What?_

At this, a purple gout of flame blazed to life and set fire to the grass in front of Thera. She stepped back as the fourth dragon, besides Jeran, approached. _If we're done conducting ourselves like hatchlings, I think our esteemed masters are waiting on us, _she said. The dark-skinned boy was leaning against her flank. He was tall and had muscle to spare, and most of his curly black hair was shaved, leaving him bald from a distance. He wore a vest and trousers – gypsy garb – which meant he had to hail from the desert or Surda. When the others' eyes traveled to him, he motioned to where Arya and Eragon stood with their arms crossed. They beckoned to the group and walked to some chairs that had been set out.

Ayel, who was probably the most comfortable around Eragon and Saphira (if not Arya and Fírnen, which he most likely wasn't), headed over to them without missing a beat. On the way, he clapped the boy on the shoulder, smirking. "Relax, cupcake. I'm sure _one_ of us can win them over." The purple she-dragon let out a short hiss as he kept moving.

Behind him, he heard Vaas chuckle. "Cheeky. Naroki almost ate him."

"I like him," said Opheila's voice. "One of us is most likely going to kill him, but I like him."

Once he reached the chairs, Ayel sat down across from Eragon and Arya with an exaggeratedly casual demeanor. "What's up, teach?" he grinned.

Arya's expression was of disbelief, mild disgust, and grim amusement all at once. Eragon fought down a similar medley and managed to look stern. "Ayel…"

"Right. Sorry." Ayel sat up straight as his fellow students filed into the seats around him. The dragons sat on their haunches behind the chairs.

"Welcome," said Eragon, addressing them all. "I'm sure you all know exactly why you're here. Dragons," he looked at each of them. "Your choices determined who I'm talking to right now. The task for each of you – _both_ of each of you – is to heed your obligation to help those who are not so lucky as we are." He folded his hands in front of him, a seemingly businesslike gesture but Ayel recognized it as a nervous tic. "You were taught by Arya through tuatha du orothrim. My job is to prepare you for that which you haven't already been educated about. I am Eragon. This is Saphira." He paused as Saphira extended her greetings.

_Well met, little ones. _He calming voice eased the other dragons and their Riders into returning the formality. After Fírnen and Arya joined in, Eragon continued.

"I won't make a terrible fuss about rules or requirements, but I expect the same degree of respect you afford to your other teachers of craft. Fortunately, Arya has told me we won't have a problem there.

"There are a few things I want you to remember. The first is: always ask questions. What we do – especially concerning magic – is volatile enough that if you try something and don't know what it will do for certain… well, you know what will happen then. Second, share everything with your partner. Third, the students and dragons surrounding you are not just your comrades but your family. And fourth," he spread his hands. "Arya and I, as well as the elves, aren't here to be tough on you. We're not just your teachers; we're your friends. Try not to get all uptight when we're around, savvy?" He flashed a rakish smile and the initiates visibly relaxed. "All good? Then I think we can start. We have a little time before the ship comes into port." He sat back in his chair and stared at them in complete silence. Ayel put his hands behind his head and leaned back, resting. Eragon had done this same thing before, when he first started, to test how long he could wait.

Jeran stretched out on the grass, smoke trailing from his nostrils. The other dragons shifted, uncomfortable. "Cupcake" was as quiet as usual, and Vaas sat rigid with a warrior's iron discipline. Opheila glanced at Ayel, saw he was relaxed, and nudged Astrid, who had been about to say something. Respectively, Naroki, Ithros, Thera, and Ragnar managed to sit still after realizing what was going on.

Eragon kept them there for a few more minutes, and then spoke. "You've all got patience, or are at least observant enough to pick it up. Either way, that's good. Now, my master once told me you could tell a lot about a person by their hands. I'd like to see all of yours." He took "Cupcake's" first. "Beq, am I right?" Beq nodded, looking slightly uneasy. After a second or two of studying, Eragon said, "Am I correct in saying these things – first, that you've been a blacksmith's apprentice for at least five years, second, that you're left handed, and third, that the man who taught you to fight and forge also freed you from slavery?"

Beq finally spoke, in a rough, clipped accent. "I was a thrall until I was ten."

"You fight with a shield, yes?"

"On my right arm."

"A normal round shield, or a buckler?"

"Usually buckler."

"That explains the broken forearm," Eragon concluded. "Hit someone a little hard, eh?"

With a sharp nod, Beq actually half smiled. "I hit the wall behind him."

Opheila leaned over. "He could tell all that by just looking at his hands?" she murmured.

"He's got to at least _think_ he's smart to waste his time teaching sods like me," Ayel said jokingly. This elicited a soft, amused sound from Opheila, but she didn't keep talking because Eragon had moved to Vaas and was speaking.

"I can guess you were brought up in the typical way from these warrior's hands you've got. You do prefer a greatsword or claymore in battle?"

"Aye. My blade is as tall and almost as wide as you, Firesword." The Kull chuckled, his fangs showing between his lips.

"You have use of your right and left hands, but more so your right over the other. Fighting in this way, you've defeated enough opponents to be considered legible, although the last one scarred you on your chest. Recently, I might add."

Vaas, whose jerkin covered his chest (but showed his tattoos in full display), grunted in surprise. "What gave it away?"

"You've got phantom pain," explained Eragon. "That's when your nerves under the scar tissue get confused and play the last signal they received: the pain of the wound. You keep shifting your arms to protect the spot, ever so slightly."

Here the massive Urgal growled, but not in a threatening way. "Is this necessary, ebrithil? I'd rather not be read like this."

"Don't worry, I've found out all I need to know." Eragon released Vaas' enormous fists and went to Astrid. "May I?" She allowed him to take her delicate wrists in his hands. "You've done less fighting than the others, but you're still accustomed to your axe. Am I right?"

Astrid nodded shyly. "Cutting firewood more than anything else," she admitted.

"Firewood's not too different from a person's spine –" Vaas started to explain, but was interrupted by Astrid's appalled mew.

"Yes, yes, we can talk about spines later," said Eragon hastily. "Astrid, you are more or less ambidextrous, am I right?" she nodded. "But you wield a single double-bladed axe with a two-handed grip? Okay, that's all I need." He scooted over to Opheila, who gave him her hands. "Opheila. You've done some fighting with daggers, but mostly would rather use a sword and shield, correct?"

She grinned wolfishly. "Why not both at once?"

He returned it, but in a less predatorial manner. "Then I'm going to guess you like to outthink when you can, instead of outfight." He studied her palms for another second. "I'm seeing a one-handed shortsword and a round shield. You're right handed?"

"I am."

"Alright. That about wraps it up." He returned to his original seat and leaned back against his chair. "We'll get swords for you that want them, and Astrid and Vaas, we'll get Rhünon to rework a blade or two to get you Brightsteel weapons."

"Doubtless she'll grumble about the whole time," Arya cut in after her long silence.

"Wait – what about him?" Opheila jerked her thumb toward Ayel.

Ayel picked up Hljödhr and waved it in the air pointedly. "I've already got one. Guess I'm just ahead of the curve."

Eragon shrugged. "More like: you're also ambidextrous, never had enough to eat, and fight like you have a death wish." He got up from his seat. "Blöhdgarm tells me they've come aground. Shall we?" Saphira followed him across the field.

Since he'd heard it all before, when Eragon examined his hands the day he woke up, Ayel had laughed as Eragon repeated what he'd been able to glean then. On the inside, though, he wished his teacher hadn't said anything. _I suppose it's only fair that they know as much about me as I do about them, since I heard everything he said just now, but I can't shake this discomfort that I only know a little more about myself than they do._

Jeran got to his feet. _You couldn't expect it to take long. You'll be training together, after all. Sooner or later they'll find out anyways. Like, are you really going to throw a fit if one of them sees you shirtless from behind and happens to notice those weird scars on your back?_

_The ones Arya swears were left by a nine-tailed whip? _Ayel sighed as he stood and began walking after Eragon. _In what conceivable situation would that happen?_

_You never know._

_No, _Ayel thought bitterly. _I don't. _He turned to look behind him at the others, pushing his vulnerability away. "So, welcome to dragon training," he said, spreading his arms with a smile. "Last one to the jetty is a rotten egg."


	6. Five, Part One: Old Friends

**Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews! I apologize for the long wait, but I've bee incredibly busy with final exams and on top of that this is shaping up top be a difficult sequence to write. I also and sorry for the crappily small chapter, but I wanted you guys to have something to read. So here you go!**

**Chapter 5: Old Friends**

**Eragon**

Eragon threw open the doors of the citadel to welcome the crowd of people outside. The elves joined him and took up positions on either side of the hallway. He skimmed the mob, noticing faces behind the vanguard: Nasuada, Orik, Grimrr Halfpaw, Garzvhog, King Orrin, and Lord Däthedr. Däthedr had come as a second for Arya; after all, the elves had to have a representative who wasn't a Rider. So they said. In reality, Eragon wasn't bothered much by the elf's attendance. He liked Däthedr and had fought with him before, and at least it wasn't Fiolr or another of the council he didn't respect quite as much.

Each of the world leaders had brought two guards. Eragon recognized some of them. They included Nasuada's Nighthawks; Lifaen and Narí; and some of the dwarves that had accompanied Eragon through Farthen Dur when the grimstzborith was being chosen. They parted so that their charges could come forward and Eragon was bombarded. Nasuada launched herself into his arms, hugging him like a sister who sees her brother return from the dead. Orik charged forward and executed a similar maneuver, except a little more… dwarvish. "Mine brother!" he yelled, punching Eragon in the shoulder. "It is good stone on which we meet again! Where is Saphira?" Saphira bugled behind him. "There she is!" the dwarf king roared, and raced to meet her.

Chuckling, Eragon regained his balance. "Good to see you too, Orik." He flashed a smile at Nasuada as she went to greet Arya and nodded to Grimrr as he stalked by to poke Yelloweyes, who was still following Nasuada around. Garzvhog bellowed in a feral way and gave the Rider a hearty slap on the back, looming over his friend.

"Firesword! You build a mighty village!" He looked over Eragon's shoulder, spotted Vaas, and came at him like a siege engine. The two Kull locked horns and pushed with gusto. Garzvhog roared again, and Vaas roared back. They straightened and smashed their chests together, laughing roughly.

Däthedr approached and touched his fingers to his lips, which Eragon returned. The elf then surprised him by twisting his hand over his chest in the gesture of fealty. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Shadeslayer."

"And may the stars watch over you," said Eragon in the ancient language. The elf passed to meet his queen. Orrin, who was likewise en passé, gave the Rider a curt nod.

"Silverhand. Hoping I meet you well." _The bastard has grown a beard! It makes him look almost mature and distinguished… _

_Let us hope he's changed his nature as much as his appearance, _Saphira sniffed.

After extending his pleasantries to Orrin, Eragon waded into the throng and found his target: Roran. His cousin was still halfway shaven and very muscular, and held a squirming Ismira in his arms. The young girl had grown a shock of red hair and echoed her mother. Katrina was close behind the two of them. "Roran! Katrina!" He called. They looked up, spotted him, and shouldered past the people in front of them.

Roran put Ismira down to wrap his cousin in a bear hug. "Eragon. Good to see you in person."

"It's been too long," added Katrina. She and Eragon embraced. In back of them, he heard Roran suddenly shout.

"Oi! Ismira! Get back – oh, bugger!" The toddler was climbing on Saphira's leg and spine, swinging from the spike on her back and laughing uproariously. Saphira was watching with such affection and amusement that Eragon felt the impulse to keel over and guffaw uncontrollably like a fool in a mad king's court.

_Oh, let her go, Roran, _said the sapphire dragon. _I'll make sure she doesn't hurt herself._

Roran looked a bit uncomfortable about leaving his only daughter in the charge of a three-ton dragon, but Katrina patted him on the arm and he relented. "Alright, Saphira. Don't let her eat anything unnatural." Saphira hastily put a talon between Ismira and the brightly colored flowers that had already taken command of her attention span. Eragon clapped Roran on the shoulder as they made their way toward the front of the crowd. "I'm going to get this show on the road. Come one." He made a beeline for the doors a Roran and Katrina gravitated over to Nasuada. On his way, he spotted Angela the witch with Solembum in tow, and stopped to say hello.

"Hello to you too," said the curly-haired herbalist, who was now wearing the snood she'd been knitting when he last saw her. "Quite an operation you've got here. I'm glad I hopped on the bandwagon early." she pinched his cheek abruptly. "Watch out for rabid gerbils!" and the pranced after Roran and Katrina. Solembum regarded Eragon with lidded eyes.

_Kingkiller._

_Solembum. Nice to see you._

_Is it? _The werecat flicked his tail and padded away.

When Eragon was done shaking his head at the two of them, he reached the main gates and turned to address those in the square. A mite of apprehension reared in his chest as all eyes fell on him, but he ignored it. Swallowing, he cleared his throat and spoke. "If someone told me three years ago that today we'd be where we are, doing what we're doing, I'd have laughed in his face and sent him to muck out the Varden's stables!" This brought a chaste laugh from most of the crowd. Eragon grinned at having broken the ice and continued. "Elves, humans, dwarves, Urgals, werecats. We were once united under one banner because of the Riders' legacy. Now, though we need make no pledges or promises, I hope to be united again by their rebirth." He pointed to where Ayel, Opheila, Vaas, Astrid, and Beq stood by their dragons. "These young people and dragons are as we once were: untried, untested, and only beginning to assume their duties. Let us embrace them as our peoples embraced us – and as the Varden embraced me.

"Each of you," he looked at the leaders in turn. "Has a contribution to the Riders. Each of you, also, will receive out aid and honor because of it. In that spirit, we welcome you." Eragon spread his hands. "And hope you find all you seek from us in our walls. For now, wander as you will; mingle, meet and explore. I will join us all once again this evening for a feast." He stepped down as the applause echoed off the walls of the castle, and went to where his students were arrayed. "For now, you can fly if you wish, or stay here and talk with the people," he said to them in a quieter voice. "Doubtless they'll ask for demonstrations or tours of the citadel. Don't feel obligated to comply, but stay within the parameters of politeness, yeah?" He shrugged.

_Should we make sure your meeting with the kings and queens isn't disturbed? _asked Naroki.

"If it comes to that," Eragon said. "Standing guard is alrigh-"

_I'm on it, _said Jeran eagerly, bounding to the doors.

Ragnar growled playfully. _I'm on it first! _The brown dragon lunged at the amber, and the two tumbled into the dirt for the second time that day. Astrid ran over to her unruly dragon, while Ayel just shook his head, bemused. Beq and Naroki went to stand some distance away, and Ithros lumbered off to where Vaas was talking avidly with Garzvhog in the Urgal language. Opheila smirked at the brawl, and she and Thera struck up a conversation with Angela and Solembum, who materialized out of nowhere as usual.

Eragon sighed and clapped Ayel on the shoulder. "Make sure they don't kill anyone, okay?" The dark-haired youth nodded and went to chastise Jeran. The elves dispersed, and most of the people in the square seemed content to hang around doing this and that. Meanwhile, Eragon beckoned to Arya and Fírnen, and when they joined him Saphira came up from the other side, having deposited Ismira into Katrina's arms. The Rider sent a mental shout to the leaders arrayed in the crowd. Garzvhog, Nasuada, and Orik, who were familiar with his consciousness, let down their defenses, but Orrin, Däthedr, and Grimrr did not. the plan was that if they were attacked, the leaders were to combine their minds and defend as one, so when the elf, human, and werecat joined together and launched a hasty counterattack, Eragon had to avoid them and shoot up hasty barriers of his own. _Stop, it's me!_

_Our apologies, Shadeslayer, _purred Däthedr's voice in his head. _We simply did not look before we responded to what we thought was a mindbreaker's assault. _They allowed him access, Grimrr wary, Orrin resigned, and the elf himself simply indifferent.

_Sorry, I just don't want us to be heard. If you would all follow me… _He gestured with his body to the hallway through the doors behind him. They filed in behind him as he led them to the conference summit.


	7. Five, Part Two: Voicing Concerns

**Chapter Five Part Two: Voicing Concerns**

**Eragon**

The Summit was one of the highest-altitude chambers in the fortress. It was positioned two empty floors under the spire of the dragonroost. The room was shaped like an octagon, with an identical table in the center. On the floor was an intricate mosaic, featuring the colors of each country behind where their leader was to sit. The tiles behind the Riders' seat were white, the color of Vrael's sword and Umaroth, his dragon. The Empire was purple, the elves green, the Dwarves a deep maroon, the Urgals black, and Surda orange. The werecats had no colors; instead their tiles were frosted glass.

The Riders had two seats among the eight for one reason: Eragon and Arya essentially ran the Riders cooperatively. Hopefully in the future when Arya could come alone and in time with the others, she could take the elves' seat and the Riders' second chair would be filled by one of the senior students - once they could be considered so – or, if Eragon dared hope, Murtagh. For now, Arya sat with Eragon, and Däthedr was in the place of the elves.

When they were all seated, Eragon appraised his guests. To his right, Arya, in a green tunic and brown pants, with her black headband holding her sable tresses back from invading the airspace in front of her eyes. Beyond her was Däthedr, dressed in a robe of warm russet and tangerine, which gave the illusion that he was wearing a cloak of autumn leaves. Next to him was Grimrr, a sharp contrast; the small boy, as he appeared, was wearing a simple jerkin and loincloth. Garzvhog was directly across from Eragon and in full armor as always. Nasuada came after him, in one of her dresses: a simple black today. Orrin was beside her, in orange and white robes. Last was Orik, on Eragon's left, who was also wearing armor, albeit in a minimalist sense. He wore a mail hauberk and leggings, greaves, and bracers. _I wonder if their beards ever get caught between the links of the mail,_ thought Eragon.

_It's probably best not to ask about it, _said Saphira from where she and Fírnen squatted behind Eragon and Arya. With a yawn, she stretched and lay down. _Wake me if they say anything important, will you?_

_Sure._ The Rider turned his attention to the beings arrayed around the table. He smiled at them. "You know, the last time we were all in a room at once like this was back in Urû'baen. Remember?" They all made some type of affirmation. "Today I would like to talk about how we're going to work in Alagaësia. The Riders, that is. You've all agreed to the Order's servitude, but the way we'll manage this batch of students will determine future classes, and I will need your approval on an idea I had for where to teach them."

"Aren't you going to train and house them here?" asked Nasuada.

"Yes and no." He took a breath. "I believe that a change in location – as well as teachers – will help them develop the skills they need, just as going from Farthen Dur to Surda to Ellesméra helped me."

"What do you propose, Firesword?" rumbled Garzvhog. The Urgal chieftain had to halfway lean back, because if he put his entire weight on the table, it would flip over.

Eragon placed his hand on the tabletop and mouthed an incantation. The spell was similar to a mix of making a fairth and scrying. When he was done, the layer of glass above the wood rippled and an image appeared. It was a map of Alagaësia and the lands to the east he had discovered. "Here's what I have in mind," he said. As he spoke, the locations he mentioned would respectively glow, marking themselves in real time. "After we're done here, you'll be returning home, including Arya. I will train the students here. Once they're at a certain point, I'll travel with them to Ellesméra. Arya and I have discussed how she'll teach them there. Then she can take them to the village at Lake Fläm, and between there and Stavarosk, I thought you, Garzvhog, and your rams could continue to teach them fighting skills."

"Easy. That is probably the majority of what knowledge we can impart anyway." The Kull grinned, baring his fangs.

With a short laugh, Eragon went on. "From the Spine, they're to ride to Ilirea, where I'd hoped Nasuada could work with them on diplomacy, as well as escort missions, bodyguarding, things like that."

Nasuada nodded, looking thoughtful. "They might see more action than you think, but I can do it as long as those pesky assassins keep up their efforts."

"I thought you were going to get rid of them."

"But it's so interesting to see what kind of crazy plan they'll come up with next!"

Eragon sighed. "Moving on, I'd hoped next they could fly to Aberon. Maybe they could keep up the diplomacy with Orrin, and throw in some natural science there." He looked at the king in question. "If you're still into that kind of thing."

Orrin waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. No trouble at all."

"Fantastic. Orik, once they all reach the Beors, I thought they might continue diplomacy and also perhaps some metalworking and fighting."

Orik grunted. "Do you need armor for them as well?"

"Do I need…?" Eragon blinked. "You'd do that?"

"We made your armor."

"Thank you. I appreciate it. If you could have some put together, we'll owe you."

The dwarf king shook his head. "On the house. We can fit them here, and start on it when we get back to our forges."

"Whatever you have to do." Eragon touched the table and the map disappeared. "Now that we've got that out of the way, does anyone have anything to report?"

Garzvhog made a discontented growl. "My rams are growing restless. We should schedule the next games soon."

"Unless there's another war coming up," muttered Orrin.

"Why do you say that?" Arya inquired. Eragon jumped; she'd been so quiet he'd almost forgotten she was there.

The Surdan king glanced at Nasuada, who shrugged, and then continued. "Not long after we just recently reclaimed Aroughs from, like, their third revolt, I began to hear tell of strange happenings in the Empire as well as my own lands. Some of the southern isles have sent missives talking about changes in the current, some kind of werelight over the Boar's Eye, and listen to this –" he pulled out a sheet of parchment. "- I quote: 'The floating crystal at Eoam is taking on what appears to be a creeping disease in the stone. Originally, it is a yellowish-green, but a spiderweb pattern of black is spreading through the crystalline structure within the gem's molecular skeleton.' Essentially, the crystal's got some weird sort of black ooze spreading around inside of it." Orrin looked sideways at Orik. "Do you think one of your experts could have a look at it, grimstzborith?"

The dwarf nodded. "I'll send one of our diving ships over. The knurlan who study coral are very familiar with unnatural kinds of stone."

"Ah, but therein lies the other problem. The seas may not be safe anymore. I contacted Nasuada to see if _her_ port cities had been noticing anything and, well…" he gestured at Nasuada to pick up the conversation.

"A few of my magicians in Narda have reported sensing some kind of 'presence' in the distance somewhere. Most say it's out in the water, or across it. We also talked with a team of astronomers in Kuasta, and what they told us was… slightly disturbing." She took a breath. "Apparently, the stars above Vroengard are going out."

Eragon could not help himself. "But wouldn't we see the same stars here or anywhere else? They haven't gone out at any other location."

Presumably, when you look above Vroengard – or indeed _from_ Vroengard – they have." The young queen folded her hands on the table in front of her. "We sent a few of our physicians out there. None of them ever sent word or came back. Just two weeks ago, the wreckage of their ship washed up on our shores. "She set her mouth into a thin line. "Let's just say… all their _remains_ are accounted for. We know one thing for sure: they were killed by a magical attack of some kind, but no one can think of a spell that would have caused it. We have Du Vrangr Gata working on it right now, but they're not exactly qualified. If someone who knew more about magic could have a look, we would be grateful."

"I'm sure we can spare one or two of our spellweavers," said Däthedr. For a moment, no one made a sound. The entire room was still.

Arya broke the silence. "Has anyone else felt it?" When no one responded with anything other than confused expressions, she kept on. "That… ominous sensation in the back of your mind?"

"Saphira and I have," Eragon offered. Saphira, who hadn't actually been asleep, opened one eye at the sound of her name. "It's like there's some kind of… muffled buzzing. Right here." He tapped the back of his head, a little to the left of where his neck met the base of his skull.

Grimrr hissed. Before now, he'd been virtually immobile. "We've sensed it. What's more, we recognize it."

Eragon blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's what evil feels like." the werecat showed his sharp white teeth. "A sick mind."

"You didn't know how to pick it out, so none of you would have noticed it was gone when Galbatorix was killed," Däthedr added. "But we felt it before the Fall, as his power grew. To have it appear again, so soon, is… disconcerting."

"Perhaps we'll have our war after all," Garzvhog chuckled grimly.

"Don't count your Ra'zac before they hatch," warned Eragon. "For now, keep me posted on _everything_. I'd wanted to complete the Riders' training on Vroengard itself, and if that's going to happened either way, we need to be absolutely certain that something is more than just wrong."

At that moment, the Eldunarí contacted him and Umaroth spoke. _Something about all this tells us we're in over our heads already. Check your lores and legends for mention of this particular presence. It is unnaturally foul._

When Eragon had relayed the dragon's words to the others, Orrin raised an eyebrow. "Particular presence?Does he sense something we don't?

Eragon hesitated, and then told them Umaroth's reply. "He says to open your minds. All of you." They did.

Umaroth showed them a memory, entirely impression and thought, of discovering the "presence" as he called it. It started as Eragon himself felt it, and then grew slowly more acute, until it was gnawing at his conscience, literally seeming to be eating, assimilating his mind. The white dragon projected his thoughts as it faded. _What I sense that you don't,_ he said calmly. _Is… Hunger._


	8. Six: First Day On The Job

**Chapter Six with dialogue brushup and continuity edits. Enjoy!**

**Pronunciation Guide and Dictionary:**

**_Garjzla_ ; Ancient Language ; _Light_ ; GARZH-la**

**_Letta orya thorna_ ; Ancient Language ; _Stop those arrows_ ; Let-TA OR-ee-a THORN-a**

**_Thrysta_ ; Ancient Language ; _Compress_ ; THRISS-ta**

**Chapter Six: First Day on the Job**

**Ayel**

_"__Garjzla!_

_ "__Nooooo!"_

"Ayel, focus!" Eragon's voice cut through the memory like a knife through hot butter. The trainee shook his head wildly, as if to clear water from his ears, and then retched, clawing at his skull as a wave of pain shot through it.

"Ugh!"

_Are you alright? _Jeran asked, concerned. The amber dragon paused in flight, prepared to land so that Angela could administer first aid if need be.

_I'm fine,_ thought Ayel, spitting at the foul taste in his mouth. _Let's hurry. The others are all ahead of us. _It was true. Opheila, Beq, Astrid, and Vaas were already halfway across the training field, dive bombing each other and dodging pseudo-lethal traps. At the ultimate end was a pedestal, on which sat a vibrant fuchsia dragon egg.

This exercise had been invented by Eragon during the feast the night before and put into action by all thirty elves through until daylight, when at dawn's first rays the Riders had been awakened and marshaled to the field. It was dubbed "Capture the Egg" and the objective was to cross the field, obtain said egg, and bring it back to Eragon safely.

Leaving out the booby traps, of course. These included falling rocks, arrows, jets of flame, fissures in the ground, and the sudden screaming ambush of camouflaged elves. On top of that, you had to compete with your fellow students and their dragons at the same time. To this part there were two rules:

Swords should be blocked.

No maiming or killing.

That was it.

_Eragon's going to be the death of us all, _Ayel remarked dryly. _More likely than whatever evil Galbatorix's ghost can lay curse on us. _Without warning, Jeran twisted sharply. "Ow! Watch it!"

_Ayel, duck!_ was the curt reply. Sensing urgency in his partner's tone, Ayel obeyed and a flaming boulder whistled over his head, narrowly avoiding shearing one of Jeran's wings off.

"I'm really beginning to question your teaching methods!" he called to Eragon, some distance away at the deck extending from the doors of the castle. Saphira was at his side, as motionless as a statue.

"Oh, you're not even trying!" said his mentor's magically enhanced voice. "Get in there!"

Ayel sighed and turned back to the chaos ahead of him. He and Jeran were midway to the altitude limit, and high enough off the ground to avoid all traps except hails of stun arrows and the occasional fiery chunk of masonry. They were rapidly gaining on their compatriots ahead.

From dawn until now, high noon, the trainees had been battling for dominance of the center division of the field. The opposite side had not traps, but was the open stretch for Rider versus Rider competition. On the trapped side, they had to work together to overcome the handful of elves and traps that stood between them and the egg. So far, they were losing, mostly because Ayel and Astrid had both been taken out of commission and screwed up their formation. A clever spell from Yaela and a convenient flashback had kept him from returning to the fight.

_If those keep up while I'm in combat, I'm a dead man, _thought the young Rider. He happened to glance down. _Hold up! Arrows inbound. _Two dozen of the projectiles were streaking toward them from below. Stun arrows wouldn't pierce, but they bruised and released a strobe werelight that blinded the victim temporarily. As they came within a few feet of Jeran's underbelly, Ayel raised his right hand and shouted, "Letta orya thorna!" On his command, the arrows slowed, then stopped and hung in the air around him. Jeran halted and beat his wings to maintain altitude, before diving into the flurry of wings and fire below.

Looking down from Ayel's position, one could see three Riders and three dragons locked in combat with a dozen elves. Opheila might not be the first thing you see, but she certainly was the first thing Ayel saw. It wasn't her beauty or her air of command, it was the fact that Jeran was dangerously close to crashing into Thera. _Whoa! Jeran, pull up!_

"Ayel! Get your head out of the clouds and check your speed!" Opheila snapped. Her brown hair was half tied back, making her eyes larger and more startling. The blue-green orbs flashed with anger and annoyance.

"Well, next time, if you want me to be late, that's fine!" he shot back, ducking for a second time as a blast of sliver flame knocked the elf behind him out of the sky. "Thrysta!" The cloud of stun arrows rocketed toward the elf and his compatriots below. Flashes of light reflected off the dragons' scales and the Riders' mail tunics.

_You're already late, _said Thera's voice. _Get down there and help Vaas. We will get Ragnar and Astrid to Angela. _The dwarven girl and her dragon had been battered by a rockslide and now lay prone on the ground. Astrid's blond tresses flared out like a halo around her head.

_Where's Beq? _demanded Jeran, not moving.

Opheila smiled. Although normally she had a nice smile, this time her loveliness was somewhat diminished by the evil in the expression. "I… put him and Naroki up to some mischief. Now get going!" She and Thera flew off in a streak of silver.

_Vaas is in deep. Look down. _Ayel followed Jeran's gaze and saw the Kull and his black dragon surrounded by seven or eight of the elves, including Blöhdgarm. Vaas had drawn his greatsword and was laying left and right with such brio that most of the elves were reluctant to come near him and intimidated by Ithros's bulk, if not simply biding their time. Blöhdgarm was another story, dodging the Urgal's swings and trying to strike with a dagger. Ithros swept the feet out from under two of the elves, but four more jumped into their place.

Jeran pulled into a steep dive as Blöhdgarm and Vaas traded blows. Ayel could tell that, although the elf was faster on principle, Vaas's reach countered his speed, as well as his movements being – by a hair – just quick enough to keep his opponent at bay. As long as he couldn't land a hit, though, soon he'd overextend his range and be caught. Even at the moment is crossed his mind, the opening was made and Blöhdgarm leapt forward, lithe as a cat.

Things would have gone ill for Vaas, if Ayel hadn't already unbuckled the straps on his saddle. _Jeran, be ready to lift me out of there,_ he thought tersely, and then jumped.

The dagger bounced off one of Vaas's curved horns, but the heel of Blöhdgarm's hand struck him in the eye. With a snarl, he slashed with the claymore in his hands. Just before it would have passed through empty space, had Blöhdgarm been given the time to dodge, Ayel flew through the air and tackled the elf around the waist. The momentum from his leap carried the pair rather helpfully into the other elves, bowling them over. Ayel rolled to his feet and, rather than drawing Hljödhr from the sheath on his back, spread his arms out to either side. As the closest elf swung her sword, Jeran's claws locked around his biceps and pulled him up and away from the melee. Climbing into the saddle and looking back, he shouted, "Ithros! Get in the air!" The massive dragon roared and spewed black fire at the elves, letting it blind them as it deflected off their wards. Behind him, Naroki and Thera rose into the sky and made a beeline for Jeran's tail. Ayel realized too late that they had crossed the halfway point in their escape.

_Uh-oh. Brace yourself! _The amber dragon put on a burst of speed, alternately gaining altitude and diving to cross the field as quickly as possible. Ayel was confident that, out of all the dragons, Jeran was the fastest flyer, but both Thera and Naroki were bigger and, if they caught up, could do some serious damage.

On the other hand, the egg's plinth was a short distance away.

Ayel dug his heels into the loops of his saddle, preparing to stand up and take it. As Jeran swooped past the pedestal, he stretched out a hand, gave a little jump – and was rewarded by the gently pulsing egg falling into his lap as he sat down hard. "Got it! Get us out of here!"

With a prompt half turn, Ayel and Jeran were facing the other end of the field. Across the span of grass and assorted wreckage, the only dragon in the air was Thera. Opheila had somehow tricked Beq and Naroki into grounding themselves. The purple dragoness and her Rider were a jumble of wings and saddle in the heather, feebly trying to untangle the mess without crushing Beq.

At first, it looked like Jeran was going to blaze past Thera without a problem, but out of nowhere a silver tail whipped him in the snout. His eyes watered and he slowly, ever so slightly, trying to blink away the haze. This gave Thera an opportunity to draw level with him and for Opheila to reach out toward the egg.

Ayel parried, blocking her wrist with his forearm. "Sorry, fair lady," he said with a little bow. "I can't kiss your hand until I get this egg to safety."

In return he got an incredulous laugh. "If you think just _talking_ is going to distract me…"

"Well, we haven't got time for _anything else_." He sent a rakish grin her way, which was met with a very flustered look. "Tally ho!" Jeran banked left and Thera was lost behind them.

Not for long, though. The sound of an exasperated scream echoed in the canyon. Glancing over his shoulder, Ayel could see Opheila and Thera gaining on him as he and Jeran passed the halfway mark. The girl's face was entirely pink and beset with a deathly scowl. "AYEL!" she yelled so forcefully that he flinched. "I AM PREPARED TO NEUTER YOU!"

"From this distance? Maybe you should ask Vaas if you can borrow his sword!" Privately, he contacted Jeran. _Pick up the pace, will you?_

_Why? Are you scared?_

_Sneck up, you useless reptile._ He looked down. _Oop – speaking of Vaas: incoming!_

A savage roar came from below, and the massive Kull rose as if he himself could fly, propelled by Ithros somehow catapulting him into the air. Jeran tried to swerve out of the way, but both he and Ayel were caught off guard and Vaas's fist closed around the dragon's left back leg. His extra weight was unwelcome and threatened to drag all three of them to the dirt. Even now, Jeran was listing uncertainly, trying to equalize by frantically flapping his wings.

Thinking quickly, Ayel freed himself from his saddle a second time. "Nice of you to hang around, Vaas."

The Urgal let a very sharp smile spread across his ochre face. "As long as there's an egg in the mix." With his free and, he snatched it off Ayel's lap and began to close his fist around it.

"Sorry, big guy, but this dragon ain't big enough for the both of us!" Swinging down, Ayel threw his weight into a single kick to Vaas's shoulder. The Kull grunted in pain and released his grip with both hands, dropping like a stone as his weight carried him down. Ayel reached out and caught the egg, nearly losing his balance as Jeran righted himself. "That was close," he breathed. "Hold on and let me –"

Before he could climb up, something slammed into his midriff and knocked him off Jeran's flank into space. He managed to hug the egg to his side even as Opheila's shoulder drove at his ribs painfully. Her momentum carried her almost past him, but her outstretched hands missed the egg. Panicking as she fell, her fingers latched onto Ayel's sword belt and clung to it as they fell in a tangle, only to land hard on a ledge fifty feet above the training field.

Ayel couldn't thank whatever deity watched over him that moss grew on the crags, because the wind and thought were knocked out of him as he landed on his back. The impact was not nearly adequately softened, although he lichen probably saved his life. Opheila was thrown forward on top of him with her left arm trapped under the belt. He coughed as her chin hit him in the throat. The resulting spasm sent his heel into her ankle.

"Ow! Careful!"

"Sorry!" After a moment's struggling, they realized that, being as pinned under her weight as she was trapped against his armor, if they moved around too much they would fall off the ledge. This was driven home when Ayel's right shoulder – where the egg was safely nestled – was almost tipped over the side. Opheila did her best to roll them back onto the ledge, and with a mighty heave was able to pull him away from danger. Now he stared directly into her eyes. They were wide with shock.

"What do we do?" Ayel asked softly. She blinked, and her eyelashes brushed his cheek.

Looking around, Opheila set her face in grim determination. "I have to free my hand and then I can stand up… very slowly. Do _not_," she pointed at him with her free hand. "…move a muscle, or we will fall."

Having resigned himself to staying still, Ayel was not at all ready when a wayward elbow jammed into his solar plexus. "Ow!" He instinctively tried to curl up in pain, but his forehead collided with hers in a jaw-rattling impact.

Opheila cursed violently. "Can you not even follow the simplest instructions?" She yanked on the belt and pulled her hand away, flexing the fingers and wincing. "There. I'm going to climb off you _carefully_." Her attempt to crawl forward brought her knee between Ayel's legs, hard.

"Whuullk!" He grimaced as a wave of pain and nausea struck him.

But his tormentor was not unmarked, either. "Aah! Blasted armor!" Opheila rolled to the side, finally parting from him, to nurse her bruised kneecap.

Ayel coughed again. "Not armored enough!" He sat up gingerly against the rock wall in back of the ledge. "Funny. I could've sworn you were reluctant to get off me." He leaned back, dazed.

Suddenly, Opheila lunged forward and they were nose to nose again. "Could you?" she whispered, an unreadable expression on her face that turned into a winning smile. "You must not think you miss much."

Staring back with equal composure, he shrugged. "I like to think of myself as an observer." He noticed that her shins were trapping his hands.

"Would finding the egg so quickly be an example?" Her breath was hot on his face as inches turned into centimeters.

"You might say that." Ayel tried to make a fist to test her weight and found his right hand strangely empty. Something was missing… but he couldn't think with Opheila in his face like this. His brain was muddled and slow.

The young woman laughed, eyes sparkling. "And yet you'll find the key is holding onto it." She put a hand on his cheek. "You'll see what I mean in a moment." Quick as blinking, she sprang to her feet and Thera swooped down to pick her up and bear her away.

Once she was gone, Ayel realized what she meant. The egg was gone. "Oh, _come on_!"

Jeran fortunately, was a wing's breadth behind. He scooped up Ayel roughly from his sitting position and set off in pursuit of Thera, without allowing time for his Rider to mount up. _Hey! What's your problem?_

_You idiot, _Jeran growled. _Letting her play you like that. All it takes is a pretty face and your mind turns to mush? If we don't catch them…_

_What was I supposed to do, wrestle it back from her? She's a girl! They don't like being… grabbed. _The two were gaining fast, and Opheila cried out as Jeran crashed into Thera and pawed at her spine. Ayel made to leap forward, but a kick from the silver she-dragon sent them spinning away.

In his sheer frustration, he spoke out loud. "What happened? You had her!"

Jeran opened his claws so he could climb into the saddle. _I might have torn her wing off, and I didn't want to hurt her._

_This is no time to be a gentleman! Opheila certainly isn't fighting fair! _Gritting his teeth in fury, Ayel decided to go for a mental attack – something he'd been holding off. He strove at Opheila's mind, and finding it out, sent a blast at the barriers around it. He was met with considerable defense. The girl's mind was like a steel trap. Only when she was distracted by an encore of flaming boulders (no doubt courtesy of the elves) did he find a chance to attack. They fought back and forth, and once he almost had her, Thera added her strength to Opheila's even as Jeran bolstered Ayel shortly afterward.

During the wizard's duel, Ayel noticed Opheila trying to hide certain thoughts from him – recent thoughts. He went after them a bit, but found her too formidable an opponent when combined with Thera to separate from Jeran. They counterattacked in tandem, but he used a trick he had learned from fighting Eragon and bound their stray thoughts together to confuse them. Thera banked and careened into Jeran once more, and her weight took both dragons to the ground.

Ayel was jostled and beaten around by rocks, wings, tails, and fists. The last part was the unique situation of having Opheila launched into him twice in one day. He was hesitant to fight back, and so let her pin him again. One of the dragons' wings enveloped them and did not move. Dust settled around them.

"Here we are again. Do you ever learn?" she said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

This time, though, Ayel's hands were free. He bear-hugged Opheila around the waist and rolled so that she couldn't bear down on him. "And the tables have turned – urk!" He broke off as she braced the sole of her boot against his jaw and pushed him away. Reeling, another kick sprawled him on his back.

"I'd normally hate to walk all over such a handsome face," Opheila said, not sounding remorseful at all. "But I actually think my boot prints are an improvement." She tapped the wall of flesh behind her and the wing rose up, letting sunlight engulf them. The training field was oddly quiet.

They were also lying at Eragon's feet. He considered them with one eyebrow raised. "Had enough canoodling?" he asked sarcastically.

Ayel stirred, spitting blood from his mouth. "We were just –"

"I really, really don't want to know what you were _just_," Eragon said quickly. "Where's the egg?"

Jeran had picked himself up and was supporting Ayel, who leaned on his neck. Thera simply opened her jaws. The egg was between her teeth, undamaged. Opheila smirked triumphantly, patting her dragon's flank.

Their teacher nodded. "Well done." He turned towards the rest of the arena. "Now, hear this!" his voice boomed, once more magically increased in volume. "To Opheila and Thera goes the victory! You have the rest of the day to recover. If you're hurt, Angela can see to you." He turned to the doors, the wheeled back around on an afterthought. "And, Blöhdgarm, we'll clean up the field later." With that, he walked back into the castle. _He's in a mood today._

Saphira, who had been watching all this, followed, but stopped in front of Ayel and Jeran. _You shouldn't let her hit you so much, _she said. Without specifying who she'd been talking to, she went through the doors behind her own Rider. The doors shut with her disappearance.

After shooting Opheila a reproachful glare, Ayel and Jeran picked their way over to Angela's first aid station to the side of the field. It was believed that, except the worst injuries, the trainees would learn better if they were not healed by magic. Something about remembering not to get hurt again if it had to mend the hard way, by less arcane treatment. And, of course, some nicks and bruises were not exactly worth spending energy on. To that, at least, Ayel agreed.

Approaching the tent, he spotted Astrid. She was conscious, her head bandaged, and propped up in a chair, looking a little green – but not disappointed or even resentful at her short shrift, having been taken out of the running early. Solembum was curled up on her lap and Ragnar at her feet.

"How are you feeling" Ayel asked in passing.

The dwarven girl smiled, ever sweet and friendly. "A little better. At least I can see straight, or we'd still have five of Angela walking around, and I don't think we can handle that many." Ragnar snorted his assent. Little match-sized flames lit in his nostrils.

Chuckling, Ayel continued into the tent, where Angela was dabbing as Vaas's black eye. It was rather comical to see the short, curly-haired human woman flitting about the Kull like a fussy den mother. "At least you're smarter than your uncle," she was saying. "I remember one time he wouldn't let the healers touch him for a week even after he got gored in the eye by a–" She noticed Ayel. "Forget-me-not! What happened to you?"

He winced at her nickname for him. "Opheila happened, that's what." Jeran whimpered in harmony.

Angela smacked Vaas on the arm. "You're fine, Iron Giant. Get out of my tent."

The Urgal sighed and got up to walk out, almost ripping the cloth of the tent with his horns. On the way, he and Ayel gripped forearms. "Good fight today."

"Aye." Of all the students, Vaas was the one Ayel already considered his friend. He knew him better that the others because they'd spent a lot of time sitting close by at the feast the previous night.

When Vaas had ducked out, Angela dragged Ayel to a chair and looked him over. "Damn."

"What?"

"She must really like you."

"Excuse me?"

"You two _are_ a cute couple, you know," the herbalist mused as she picked out a dressing for one of her charge's scrapes.

"Um, maybe if she wasn't perpetually trying to murder me." The bandage chafed. "Ow."

"Don't be a baby," tut-tutted Angela. "You're a big boy. A good-looking one. I'm sure all the girls back home got exactly like Opheila does when you were around."

Ayel cleared his throat. "You mean homicidal?"

"That was just today." She waved a hand. "I mean the kind of flirty, I'm-smarter-than-you sort of tricky, sarcastic way she gets."

"The way she is all the time?" Angela poked his split lip experimentally. "Ow!"

"Oh, she gets snippy with me, but she's not nearly as suggestive about it," the witch retorted. She adjusted a strip of cloth on his arm. "There. You're fine. The bruises will fade like normal, and the cuts will heal a bit quicker, but I didn't use much salve – they're not deep. Anyway, you've got a date, so get going!"

Letting her push him out, Ayel shook his head. "You're crazy."

Angela laughed. "If anything, you're the crazy one. I saw you jumping around like a jackalope today. Unfortunately for you both, I think Opheila _likes_ crazy." Without another word, she drew the tent flaps closed behind him.

Jeran craned his head over his Rider's shoulder. _Do you know what she's talking about?_

_No. Do you?_

_I think we should ignore and forget what she's been saying._

_Sure. _Ayel started walking up to the doors of the castle. The others were long gone, and the whole canyon was silent.

Just before they reached the threshold, Jeran had another thought. _I _did _have a nice chat with Thera while you two were mucking around under her wing_.

_Drop it, scaly. _Ayel kicked the doors open and stalked inside, his laughing dragon on his heels.


	9. Seven: Wyrda Vrangr

**Chapter Seven: Wyrda Vrangr**

**Ayel**

Ayel lay on the ground, breathing slowly and gently. The grass was soft under his back, and the sound of leaves in the wind was as lulling as being sung to sleep. The trees swayed under the bright blue sky; the waning afternoon. He closed his eyes and felt fatigue dragging him down like a chain that tethered him to the realm of unconsciousness.

"Ayel! Stop lying around and get over here!"

The teen groaned. As always, he had to deal with people before he was ready. Taking his time to get up, he glumly recalled the events of that morning.

Still shaking off the throes of his nightmare, Ayel stumbled into the Hall in a sleepy haze. Jeran caught him so that the youth leaned on his neck like a crutch. "What a sorry pair the two of us are," he mumbled as they reached the long, dark oak table, step by painful step. Every one of his bruises still ached from the day before, and his stiff muscles burned in protest. The collection of welts and scrapes he commanded chafed beneath his tabard. Even his sword belt sagged, reflecting his temperament.

Already at the table sat Beq, Vaas, and Astrid. They made no motion to acknowledge he was there, but went on eating, their focus directed inward. Beq wore his ever-present poker face, but his body language made it clear he shared with Naroki (who sat a ways off, preening) a foul mood. Vaas simply brooded over his bacon and potatoes, while Astrid picked at her plate, discouraged by the coldness of her breakfast partners.

Jeran went to sit an equal distance from Ithros and Ragnar, and left Ayel to fall clumsily into his chair. Hljödhr's scabbard clinked against the floor stones. The food set out for him wasn't hot anymore, but he gladly shoveled it into his mouth – the elves prepared fine fare, and he needed the energy any way you looked at it. Absorbed in his meal, he didn't notice Opheila until she sat down across from him. Thera and she were both fresh-faced and open-eyed, appearing well rested in comparison for the others. This served as more incentive for loathing, of course.

Ayel looked up with a mouthful of eggs and met her gaze. She offered a jaunty wink, to which he returned a stony glare. The brunette shrugged and nonchalantly set upon her breakfast. More than one baleful set of eyes was on her now; it seemed, regardless of the perpetrator, most if not all of the trainees blamed her for their troubles the previous day.

Following a few moments' deathly silence, the doors to the Hall banged open with a crash that echoed more than twice. Saphira came in first, and then Eragon strode in, Solembum at his heels and Angela bustling behind them. The witch waved at Ayel, who grunted without give to pleasantry or hostility. They arranged themselves at the head of the table.

The Head Rider sat down with a great sigh, an annoyingly self-satisfied air surrounding him. He considered the motley assortment around the Hall. "Brrr!" said Eragon loudly. "I'm really feeling the love in here!"

"If you want, I can name my sword Love," Vaas grumbled.

Ayel eyed the massive, black greatsword critically. "Maybe if it were pink."

The Kull chuckled. "Ithros would never live with himself if he were." He split his mug in a toothy grin and suddenly it was back to the old game. Ayel gave him a friendly shove and was promptly knocked sideways into his toast. This broke the proverbial ice. Astrid covered her mouth, smiling, while Beq just sat there looking a bit miffed at who knows what. Opheila looked between them uncertainly, but was more or less met with a friendlier attitude. For the moment, at least, she was forgiven. The others scooted over to allow her more purchase on the table.

"All right, that's just wonderful," Eragon said sardonically. "Good thing you're not fighting anymore, because I have to pair you up for this next exercise." A collective groan from the other end of the table. "Shut up, guys! It's not that bad!"

Ayel leaned into his omelet. "Easy for him to say. That depends on the pairs," he said in a low voice.

Vaas elbowed him, which was a little like being hit with a wheelbarrow. "Quiet. Those ears of his can pick up a mutter in a full thunder of dragons, wings beating all like a force ten gale. Arya's proof enough of that."

The human grunted and rubbed his bruising shoulder, but did not respond. Meanwhile, Eragon had not stopped talking, despite apparently having been able to hear his griping.

"Somewhere within the forest below is Glaedr's Eldunarí. He is hidden in a safe place that I found yesterday afternoon. Your job is to find him." He laced his fingers in front of him.

"And cover thousands of miles of backwoods in a day?" Opheila blurted out. "Not likely!"

Eragon shot her a look. "I didn't say you were searching blind. Glaedr is using magic to emit a dowsing pulse on the mental planes. When sensed by one of your minds, it will lead you to him. I know we aren't able to sense minds over a distance, so I had the elves and Angela whip something up. Angela?"

Angela tossed back her curly hair. "With these, you'll be able to dowse for Glaedr's magical signature from miles away, if you're stupid enough to end up that far removed." She drew a bundle of cloth from beneath the table and took out three smooth river stones. "I had Blöhdgarm charm them. They'll allow you to tap into a collective expansion that covers the whole forest. You'll have to concentrate hard to follow the pulse once you find it, but it can only be followed once you sense it in certain locations – I call them pivot points." She snapped her fingers and a tapestry fell away on the wall behind her. It revealed a map of the surrounding areas. "I've marked them each with x. Which is odd, really. Why does x always mark the spot? Why didn't the map-makers use something else to remember where buried treasure was, like a zombie canary or a-"

"Anyway," said Eragon, racing to cut her off before she started another rant. "You'll have to find the pivot points and follow the pulse from there. I realize we're not even enough to pair off, so one of you will need to go with Angela. I'm to stay here with the dragons. Any volunteers?"

Silence. Ayel was a little scared of the witch and didn't fancy being stuck in the forest with her – after all, she might start talking to him about girls again. He fancied the others had some kind of deterrent as well, because they looked down at their plates and mumbled. Angela laughed. "I won't bite, kiddos."

Astrid shrugged and raised a timorous hand. _Predictable of her. Always the nice one. Though whether she's being nice to Angela or to us, I don't know. _The herbalist returned a wide smile.

"Goldilocks! Oh, we're going to have _so much fun_!" She cackled rather disturbingly.

Eragon clasped his hands together. "Ooooooookay. Now, I'm pairing you based on sensory ability. One of you will handle the dowsing stone, while the other will protect and guide them so they don't trip over a root or run into a briar patch while they're concentrating." He moistened his lips and considered for a moment. "Vaas, you'll be with Beq. That leaves Opheila with-"

"I knew it!" Angela whispered loudly.

"-Ayel. Take your stone and get going whenever you want." He sat back in his chair. "You dragons, Saphira and I are going to run you some flight and battle drills. Meet us at the roost in ten minutes."

Vaas and Beq got up and left right away after Beq had grabbed the stone. Astrid and Angela hung around because Angela was chatting about something to do with a murderous rabbit that ripped out the throats of wandering dwarves. After shooting him a helpless look, Astrid led the herbalist out and passed from his sight. Ayel stood up resignedly, only to find that Opheila had gotten the dowsing stone already and, having been standing behind him, they had an awkward moment of collision where they both almost fell to the floor.

"Sorry."

"Watch where you're stepping! That was my toe!"

Ayel bristled. "I'm not on your toe! Unless it's made of solid rock."

"Can't you ever be careful about anything?" She threw her bangs away from her face and jabbed a finger at his nose. "Nothing about you tracks! It's like you cause bad luck wherever you go. I'm surprised the whole castle isn't in pieces…"

"If you're speaking of bad luck," Ayel said politely. "I would like to point out that we're leaving late." He gestured at the door with an open hand.

Opheila looked like she was considering punching him, but settled for storming out the door. Her frizzy hair whipped him in the face as she went by, the stone clutched in her fist so tightly that it occurred to him she was probably imagining it was his skull. It also occurred to him that the stone ought to have been crushed by now. That girl had a grip.

He scratched the back of his head, sighed, and ambled out the door.

Back in the present, Ayel hauled himself reluctantly to his feet. The grass withered under his fingers. Around him, birds could be heard calling to each other, and the breeze seemed to carry echoing whispers as if the trees themselves were, too. The sunlight shining around him was filtered through leaves and branches, almost giving the glow of its rays a green tint.

"Ayel!"

_Oh. Right._ Appreciating this view was one thing. The other one… well, Opheila was nicely irritated.

And annoyingly beautiful. As always.

But that was beside the point. Right now Ayel had to keep her from killing him. "All right, what's the hurry?" he said, grudgingly drawing closer.

His partner was bent over the dowsing stone, eyes closed. She'd tied back her hair like normal, but it was slipping through the haphazard knot she'd made. Like Ayel himself, she wore the uniform Eragon had come up with: blue canvas pants, a green tunic backed with mail, and dark brown boots made of cloth stiffened with resin. Each uniform had to be tailored specifically, having a dwarf, two human boys, and a girl in the freshman class. Vaas declined to wear the uniform, seeing as Urgals liked to go about in different kinds of clothing. For today, both trainees had forsaken their outer armor, which consisted of a series of metal plates attached to leather sheets that had to be strapped on in a complicated pattern, but in the end allowed ease of movement as well as comfort and protection of essentials.

Now Opheila opened her eyes. "I sense him," she said. "We're not too far off. Good thing I memorized the pivot points, huh?"

"I still don't get how you managed that so fast." Ayel yawned.

She wiggled her eyebrows. "I'm a special girl. Now, let's get moving, shall we?" Straightening, she offered him her elbow.

Ayel blinked.

"Take my arm so I don't fall, you idiot."

Ayel had a moment of recognition; shrugged.

"_Ayel…_"

He rushed forward. Approaching from her left, (she was holding the stone in her right hand), Ayel took her by the forearm with his right hand and the wrist with his left hand, which she held so she could lean on it with the heel of her hand for support. He was only an inch or two taller than her, but he had to hunch just a little to make height, so she could lean into him. They sat there for a moment.

"Well, don't drag it out. Are we looking?"

Opheila gave a little jump. "Oh…. yeah. Sorry." She closed her eyes after a beat. It was almost as if her cheeks were turning pink with concentration. Then, "Left."

Ayel went left, taking care to lead her carefully.

So it went on for a while as they followed the trail of magical energy. The forest floor proved treacherous to the blind, full of roots and rocks and cutting-grass. _How many times did we slip up?_ Ayel would say to Jeran later. _Well, there was the time I went right when she was trying to turn around, and we ended up in an abandoned fox den. Then there was the fox den that _wasn't_ abandoned. There was the hornet's nest – we weren't stung, thankfully, but we nearly killed ourselves getting away – oh, and then by the lake, when she got so mad and gave me this black eye. I still don't see what's wrong with a little seaweed, but there you go. _

The hours wavered, and by late afternoon Ayel was convinced they were lost, while Opheila insisted they were hot on the trail yet.

"Do you really think it'll be all the way out here?" he asked. The two were, by his reckoning, several miles out from the castle and its fjord. They were bruised, scratched up, newly drying off, and he had a nice shiner forming over his right eye socket. Incidentally, Opheila's knuckles, which briefly had stopped holding his left hand and promptly returned to it when she almost fell into the lake again, were slightly scraped.

"Eragon can run flat out for miles on end. Do _you_ really think it's going to be twenty yards from the front door?" Despite the terse statement, Ayel sensed that the lake was forgiven. He'd saved her arse enough times out here anyhow.

"Fine." The path they were following was relatively clear, so he tried to study her expression. Her eyes were still closed, but not tight – they were shut gently, confident, serene. Every few seconds, her eyelashes would flutter as she took a breath. With mild surprise, he noticed she had freckles, just a few on her cheekbones and across the bridge of her nose. She was also biting her lower lip. All in all, the picture of someone deep in concentration – or someone good at acting like it, anyway.

"Could you not do that?" she said suddenly,

Ayel almost tripped over his own feet. Then he almost tripped over hers. By the time he'd righted them both, his mouth had the time to form a single word: "What?"

"Stare at me. And don't say you're not, because I can tell you are. Your eyes are so intense, I can practically feel them from here."

No deflection of her accusation occurred to him, so Ayel went for the rebuttal that changed the issue. Not saying it wasn't his favorite choice, either. "Hang on." he stopped both of them walking; grinned. "Are you saying you think my eyes are intense?"

"Oh, that's rich. You know that's not what I-" she broke off. "Wait a minute. I lost it." Her eyes opened. "I last felt it… no, that can't be right." she let go of him and ran off – in a direction they hadn't even come from.

"Opheila!" The trees had already engulfed her. She was invisible, shrouded by their congregating forms. "Opheila, wait!" He cursed. "That's not the way we- oh, slugger!" The curse flew out of his mouth like he used it all the time, even though he wasn't familiar with it. _Not that I can remember, anyway. _Without pausing to consider it, he went after her.

After a few seconds, he saw her standing with her back to him through the foliage. She was looking at something. "Ayel… come look."

"What were you thinking? I could have told you the way we came from!"

"Sssh!" She whirled around and jammed her finger to his lips. "Look around you."

When she released him, he took a step back where it was safe. "Why are we whispering?"

"_Look_." She pointed at where she'd been looking earlier. A cluster of trees stood between them and a drop into a small hollow. On the right, many of the trees were bent and ripped to shreds. What looked like claw marks scored into the ground below and trailed off over the edge.

"Whoa." He moved closer to the damage.

Opheila was behind him, but much closer now. "Do you think – one of the dragons –"

"No," Ayel said quickly. "This creature was smaller. And check the trees: no scorch marks. I'm betting…" he saw a greenish liquid collecting on the stump of a tree that had had its trunk ripped in half. "Here we go." Walking over, he ran his finger through the liquid, tasted it, spat. "Fanghur. It's injured." He turned back to her. "Do you want to take a look?"

She nodded. "Yes. Stay down and move slowly." Passing in front of him, she led him through the gorse thicket and into the hollow. It was almost foggy, and rocks cropped up every which way. They crouched behind one of them, looked up. The trees loomed over the rim of the indentation in the ground, hemming them in. Ayel glanced up over the top of the rock.

Across the hollow, lying almost in the middle, was a Fanghur. Its eyes were shut, and its wings were draped over its body. Green blood seeped out from underneath the wing on top. Snaggleteeth poked out of its scaly lips. Its snout was squashed, like a pug's, and its skin had ridges and folds as if it had once been fat. _Compared to a dragon, this thing is butt-ugly._

Opheila stood up. "We should see if we can heal it."

Ayel nodded. Fanghur were hostile predators, but mercy wasn't something he held exclusively when lives were on the line. Besides, the animal appeared to be suffering a great deal. It wasn't until Opheila stepped on a twig and it snapped like a shattering boulder that he realized how dangerous it still was.

A pair of yellow eyes flew open, and the Fanghur let loose a feral growl. It lifted the wing and rolled to a hunting crouch. Its wound was visible. Ayel's mouth fell open.

The skin on its ribs seemed to have been grafted with a black, ooze-like substance, appearing as body tissue but obviously foreign. The material was shivering, as if it drew breath, and it seemed to eat away at the Fanghur's flesh – the blood trickled out near the spiderweb lines of the patchy darkness.

In an instant Ayel knew what he beheld. It was death. It was poison. It was destruction and ruin.

It was the parasite that had razed his homeland and whose host had killed his father.

The infected Fanghur lunged. Opheila's shortsword rang out of its sheath, glimmering silver in the waning sunlight. She hacked at it, and its head snapped back, poised, calculating. It feinted, as if to lunge again, and then pivoted and struck at her with its back leg.

Had Opheila been holding her shield, there would have been less danger, but she had left it at the castle so it wouldn't burden her. Instead the gnarled claws snatched at her left arm, narrowly missing a blow that would have stripped the flesh from her bones. The beast twitched, about to strike again, but that was around the time Ayel brought down Hljödhr on its knobbly ankle. The enchanted sword cleaved through muscle, sinew and bone like it was nothing. A bleeding stump sprayed foul liquid in his face, pus and blood plasma and who knew what else. He was blinded for a moment, and a wing swept him out of the way and into a rotting tree stump. The impact sent a jolt of sharp pain up his spine.

Opheila immediately attacked from the other side, cutting the wing off at the shoulder. She then riposted and plunged her blade into the black mass. It parted for her, but flapped in the wind, reaching up at her skin.

"Opheila, get back!" Ayel yelled, leaping forward and ducking into a roll. He jarred his shoulder, then tumbled into her legs, knocking her away from the disease. He flicked away a few strands that followed them with his blade, and then jumped back as the Fanghur flailed, screeching louder than he ever thought possible. The sound pricked at his ears, and simultaneously a desperate attack was mounted on his mind. He grabbed his head and tried to fend it off, blocking out the noise. It lasted a second or two longer, and then it faded.

He dodged a searching foot, swiped, cut off a few claws. Then he put his sword through the membrane of its wing. That devilish scream tore at his mind, and then… a sudden silence.

Ayel looked at the Fanghur. A silver wedge jutted out of the top of its head. As he watched, the blade slid out and its neck, no longer supporting it, failed, letting its empty skull hit the ground. Opheila was on the other side of it, panting, unsteady on her feet. She let her sword clatter to the ground, and collapsed to her knees.

"Opheila?" She didn't answer. Feeling himself on the verge of mimicking her, Ayel decided that if he was going to fall, he was going to fall forward. He dragged his way over to her and pulled himself into a sitting position beside her. She had swung her knew forward and was sitting now, too.

"Why did you push me?" was the first thing she said.

"Huh?"

"I had its weak spot, and you pushed me away. Why?"

"Oh. I…" He thought for a second, still disjointed and sharp with adrenaline. "I thought I recognized that – that blackness. If it was what I thought, you wouldn't have lasted a second longer. Not as yourself anyway." He looked for it on the body of the Fanghur, but it was mysteriously gone, leaving only the open wound it had created.

"What is it?" She seemed to have caught her breath, but was leaning heavily on his shoulder. The one he'd hurt while rolling to get to her.

Ayel gritted his teeth but didn't mention it. "It's a parasite. An intelligent disease that infects and assimilates. There's a long story. If we've really found it, I only want to tell it once. Which means we should be getting back."

Opheila nodded. "Come on. Help me up. I think I dislocated my elbow when I stabbed it. I was expecting more resistance." She slung her uninjured arm over his shoulders, and they stood up to walk out, trying not to look at the dead Fanghur as they went.

When Astrid ran in and told everyone that they were back, at first, Eragon was prepared to be ticked off at them for being late. It was almost sundown, after all, and Angela and Astrid had found the egg ages ago. Even Vaas and Beq had shown up earlier, with an impressive collection of hornet stings and porcupine quills in their skin, as well as badly wounded prides. However, when he saw Ayel half-carrying Opheila medic style up the dirt path, and the Fanghur blood on their swords, he knew something was up.

Once Angela had cleaned the two up, put the girl's elbow in a sling, and bandaged a truly nasty black eye (_He must have run into a tree or something to get that one._), he asked about it.

They told him.

It did not seem like good news.


	10. Eight: Fighting Shape

**Well, finally, my morning obligation is over, so I have a life at the beginning of the day and can now stop and think about writing! Enjoy this, the hopefully last chapter that ends up over a week late! Sorry about the inconvenience of my last uploads. I hope you like this one - I put a lot of time into figuring it out. I ended up having to close it sooner than I'd have like, so I apologize if the ending is a bit rushed, but I wanted to get it up TODAY. So enjoy!**

**-Chapter Eight: Fighting Shape**

**Eragon**

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Eragon threw up his hands, pacing away from the mirrors. The faces of Nasuada, Arya, Garzvhog, Orik, Grimrr, and Orrin regarded him with various degrees of incredulity, exasperation, or simply weariness. "This is shaping up to be far worse than any of us could imagine. If anything of what Ayel's told me comes to a head-"

"But that's the very question," interrupted Orrin. "I'm not going to accuse him of lying, but how can we be sure his memories aren't tampered with… or simply imagined altogether? There's got to be a logical explanation for this black material other than evil forces that will destroy the world - again!"

Eragon was about to reply in kind, but Arya cut him off. "Orrin is right, but we can't throw away Ayel's input so lightly. His memories have been examined before. They can be again. If we were to take drastic action immediately, we might rush into a more complex problem than we can tell." Her voice was soothing, but her benign tone and the look on her face almost gave the impression that she was humoring him. Fortunately, Eragon knew she wasn't the type to do that; if he did something she thought was half-arsed, she told him so.

"What of the crystal?" asked Nasuada. "Or the shipwrecked victims? Any news?"

Orik stroked his extensive beard. "My knurlan find little. We can tell you that this black creep is the same material your students reported, brother, because its passive behavior matches. It be so that it erodes the stone and spreads like so many fingers throughout its pores. Other than that, it is no known substance to us or your kind."

"As for the bodies of the scientists," Arya began. "Trace amounts of the same thing were found in the folds of their clothes and in their wounds. They were killed by it, or by something manipulating it." She hesitated. "In the same way as the injured Fanghur, their flesh was eaten away in such places and the scraps of this… parasite had been trying to replace it."

Orrin sat back in his chair and put a hand to his forehead. Fatigue seemed to overwhelm him, but he still stuck to the matter at hand. "Remind me. What did he call it?"

"Ruin," said Eragon. "He was very serious. I'd even say spooked. But there was this hardness in his eyes; it ill became him. Usually he's pretty easygoing."

"His story savors not much of distraction." This came from Grimrr, who was cleaning his fangs. "My kind see much in this world and out of it. We have never seen this 'Ruin' with our own eyes until now."

Garzvhog made a feral noise that was neither affirmative nor the opposite. "My rams keep watch over the mountains. All we know is that the cloud over Vroengard grows. It bears an omen of destruction. In one of my people's epics, it is said that a great shock of death once took our world. Nyalatûkk's cloak ensnared all, and a great storm, of which form we cannot fathom, brought 'ruin' upon the land. That is what is written in our weavings of legend. The exact words."

"Not a Prophecy, I hope," said Nasuada.

"No," the Kull grunted. "But to believe the weavers, it has happened before and so may again."

Eragon paused in his pacing. "There we have it. Do you want to do something now? I'm sorry, but we don't have time to give you the full story or examine Ayel's memories. In a fight between two wolves, two sharks, whatever, whichever side hesitates when the time to attack comes, loses. I say first-strike capability is most important. Whatever we're up against isn't at strength enough to engage with us; or we'd be decimated already. We should send an expeditionary force to Vroengard." He held up a hand to their objections. "Not by ship this time. I'm asking to take my Riders."

Before she spoke, Arya made a furtive motion, but quickly checked it. Eragon suspected that if they hadn't been on opposite sides of the enchanted mirror, she would have put her hand on his arm. "We don't know if we are even up against anything yet," she said. "And what is there to attack? It would be headstrong to charge in, fires blazing, and find nothing… or worse, something beyond any of us." She seemed to choose her next words carefully. "Let us handle the pursuit of this matter. Finish the training of the Riders as far as you planned to, and then bring them to us. We can look into Ayel's recollections then."

"There is no way but this, brother," Orik agreed. The others made similar statements of concurrence.

Sighing, Eragon sat down heavily. "I just think it's unwise to wait until we might get invaded by a possible enemy at the height of their power. None of us want another war of any kind."

"With all due respect, Shadeslayer," said Orrin. "No enemy has yet been confirmed."

"He's got a point." Nasuada gave a grudging look in his direction.

Pride and indignance bristled inside the young Rider. "All right then," he said with a hint of venom. "I'll bring them for review like you asked, but on my own time. We'll finish up here and be gone your way in a few days. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a school to run." He snapped his fingers and the mirrors refracted light, turning once again into normal mirrors. They had all looked like they wanted to say something back. _Too bad. I can make my own decisions now, and I'm going to do what's best for all of us. _Eragon swiveled in the seat to get up and found himself face to face with Angela and Solembum. "What the hell are you two doing in my office?"

"Just thought you'd want to know," Angela said, breathless as if she'd just run flat out from the training field to the study. "They're fighting."

"Who?"

_All of them. _Solembum bared his teeth unpleasantly. Even in his human form, they were unerringly sharp.

"Let's go," said Eragon, already gathering his personal effects and heading out the door. Unauthorized fighting was a little worrying, especially because it was now unsupervised. The herbalist and small boy came behind him as quickly as they could. Carpeting perforated underneath their footfalls. As they double-timed it down the lengthy hall, an afterthought occurred to him. "Did they block the swords, at least?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I don't know." Was Angela's cheerful reply.

Eragon cursed.

**Ayel**

Ayel narrowed his eyes. His fingers tightened, wringing his two-handed grip on Hljödhr. In the evening sun, the amber sword almost glowed. He stood across from Beq on the beaten circle of dirt where most sparring was conducted. Dust shifted in the breeze, but neither of them made a move. Behind them, scuffing noises and the occasional sharp clang bore witness to Opheila practicing with Astrid nearby. Vaas was clearly visible, seated off to the side in a meditative pose, watching both duels intently.

It was rather appropriate that Beq wielded punching weapons, accounting for his boxer's build. On his left forearm was a modified buckler, made from reinforced hardwood and leather. In his right hand was what he had called a katar, an unusual device used by the nomads. It consisted of two sets of parallel rods, two long and two short running in between. The first short rod was a grip, and from the second sprouted a wide, slightly curved triangular blade. The katar was held so that the longer rods flanked the user's arm on top and bottom and the blade could be angled for thrusts and slashes. It looked funny, but it was more than a match for a sword in the hands of an artist like Beq. Rhunön had reworked it out of purple Brightsteel.

On the other hand, Ayel had certain advantages with his own weapon. Hljödhr could be used with one or two hands, was quick but heavy enough to add force to his cuts, and kept the opponent at a considerable distance. Conversely, if Beq got in close, it was difficult to get away using conventional tactics, since the katarn style had no interest in fighting exclusively with the weapon. The two human men were about as evenly matched as you could get, and the current record was four and three in Ayel's favor. Even though he'd claimed more victories, Ayel sensed his only real superiority to Beq was in experience. He'd been training longer – or he thought he had; he didn't know for sure.

For the last couple of hours, the group had been dueling repeatedly to test each other out. So far the scoring was rather complicated. Ayel and Beq were generally the best fighters, but Vaas was about as skilled, just disadvantaged by size and lack of speed. Opheila was the smartest, as always, but if forced into a contest of simple swordplay was only a hair above average. Astrid had had less training than any of them, and seemed to bear no innate desire to improve, but had accepted their offers to practice with her nonetheless. She had beaten one of them, Ayel, in fact, who had hesitated before delivering a final blow and taken a lucky (if accidental) axe strike to the gut. Note to self: dual-bladed bearded axes hurt. Undeniably, the tiny girl was remarkably strong to wield such a weapon. Bearded axes were more often single bladed because of weight balance.

While that was all tied up, it was down to Ayel and Beq to settle their score (in their method of sparring, you had to win by a difference of two matches) and then the whole gang would move on to archery. Honing their combat skills was the brilliant idea of Angela, but of course she wouldn't tell Eragon that; he was too busy and besides he hadn't given her permission to set them going hammer and tongs anyway. They were allowed to fight on their own, but encouraged to make sure someone of authority knew about it. The dragons, who were wrestling at the other end of the field, had feigned ignorance of this rule.

For a moment, Ayel was distracted as Ithros threw Jeran to the ground. _If you're going to hold your talons that high, stay low until you close with your opponent,_ the black dragon instructed. _Otherwise, protect your waist passively instead of your chest. You'll move to block faster. _Jeran flipped onto his paws and charged again, claws sheathed. While his attention was on the two dragons, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision prompted Ayel to instinctively duck. A buckler strike that probably would've knocked him out whistled over his head. He pivoted and rolled backward as Beq followed up with a downward slash. Though blocked like all the other weapons, the katar was just as effective as a bludgeon and had already given the shorter boy a number of bruises.

Ayel's recovery put him on his feet and ready to catch the incoming jab. His blade crossed diagonally over his chest, pushing Beq's arm down. As added insurance, he stepped to his right just an inch so that the dark-skinned boy couldn't lash out with his buckler. Beq set his mouth into a thin line and pushed. He was taller that Ayel, who was none too tall, but high enough off the ground to look Eragon in the eyes, and no doubt he was stronger, too, judging by the powerful muscles in his arms. His black hair was cut severely short, and almost made him appear bald, unlike Ayel who wore his raven locks in a look that could be called "shaggy" but wasn't quite neck length.

The two teens struggled back and forth, and after a few moments of impressive resistance, Ayel sensed he was about to be overpowered and broke the saber-lock, stepping back and raising the tip of his sword. Beq advanced, alternately slashing and punching, while Ayel backed away to try and gain some distance so he could control the fight better. This pattern always ended the same: they eventually got tired of dancing and struck, but they were close enough that one of them couldn't hit the other without being hit himself. If the match continued that way, Ayel knew Beq would wear him down. He needed to change tactics.

Angling Hljödhr down so it wouldn't get in the way, he dodged the next attack, then grabbed the rim of the buckler and dove to the side. The straps came away with less resistance than he expected, and he heard Beq's grunt of surprise as both Ayel and his shield fell away. The smaller fighter skidded and picked himself up, gripping his sunset blade in a defensive stance. In front of him, Beq mirrored the pose, raising the katar and putting up his hand slightly behind it. Without his buckler, he'd use his left hand to grapple – which was exactly what Ayel wanted him to do.

This time, Ayel rushed in and started to drive his counterpart back with heavy, quick strikes. After a clumsy vertical sweep, Beq twisted to the side and grabbed Ayel's wrist. Expecting this, Ayel immediately swung his legs off the ground and jammed his toes into the crook of Beq's knees. The wiry, lean boy took his larger opponent to the ground with his own momentum, something he'd learned from privately rehearsing such grapples with Vaas. The Urgal was a tough fighter, and had let Ayel win a few times to help demonstrate how to tackle a larger enemy.

As they fell, Ayel had intended to drop his elbow into Beq's stomach, but the blacksmith's apprentice smothered the blow and flipped him onto his back so that both of them were flat on the ground. He then reached to his side and swept his arm into the air, driving his recovered katar into the dirt next to Ayel's neck. The inscription on the violet blade said, _Haraviand_. Desert Storm. He sat there, breathing hard, unwilling to move because of the lethal weapon barely a millimeter from his throat.

Beq stood up and stretched, cracking his back. He bent and pulled the katar out of the sand. "I win. That was a good takedown." He offered a callused hand.

Ayel took it and pulled himself to his feet. "I just need to work on the finisher. I gave you too much time to react."

A shadow dramatically engulfed the two of them; Vaas had decided to stand. The Kull had his greatsword, Wind Cutter, strapped to his back. His dark eyes gleamed under the bristly head of hair surrounding the base of his horns. "Rather than deciding or knowing what you're going to do, wait for the moment where you have to do it and let your instincts do the work. If your intention is to put someone out of the fight, your body will do it. If your intention is to kill, your body will do it. That is how we fight without guilt: rather than premeditating a kill, we allow our reflexes to decide what is necessary." He cracked a grim smile and draped an arm over each of his friends' shoulders, which nearly bowled them over. "Now I believe we are keeping the ladies waiting."

Across the field, the dragons were now breathing fire at various things for their amusement. _Watch you don't set the whole field aflame,_ warned Ayel. _These weeds can catch on quicker than you'd think._

_I know what I'm doing, _Jeran scoffed. _Go talk to your girlfriend._

_She's _not_ my – oh, forget it. _

Opheila and Astrid were already over by the shooting range and were testing the draw of one of the bows for Astrid. "If you're shooting with your right hand, put your left foot forward," she was saying patiently. "Can you nock?"

Astrid nodded, having pulled the string of the small bow all the way back. Ayel knew little about archery, but it seemed the weapon was a good fit for her small stature. The dwarven girl drew an arrow from the quiver on her hip and set it to the string.

"Now we have to find the center of your aim. Sight on the target as best you can." She waited for Astrid to do so. "Close your eyes and breathe deeply, and then open them. If you're not still on target, change your stance."

Astrid blew her golden hair out of her eyes and shifted, almost imperceptibly, where she stood. She loosed the arrow. It flew straight and with a _zzzzzzzip - Thunk! _buried itself in the target maybe six inches from the center. The look on her face was priceless; she really couldn't believe that she'd made the shot. "Wow… I didn't think I'd actually hit it…"

"Of course you did." Opheila patted her arm. "You're a natural. And you had me, of course." She tossed her hair back in mock arrogance and Astrid laughed nervously. Before long her laser-blue eyes found Ayel. "What about you, Mr. Dreamy Eyes? Do you shoot?"

"Number one, no, I don't think I've ever shot a bow. Number two, when did that become my official title?" Ayel crossed his arms and waited for her response calmly.

"Let's see…" she put a finger to her lips in mock contemplation. Then she put on an exaggeratedly flirtatious grin and yelled, "Are _you_ saying _my eyes_ are _intense_?" Everyone except Ayel laughed at what was actually a pretty good impression of his voice.

He shrugged. "Hey, you said it first. Not me." Walking over to the weapons rack, he picked up a bow and tested the draw as he'd seen Astrid do. The string almost snapped in his hand, so he found another, and then another, rifling through the arraignment of lengths and pulls until he found one he thought he liked. "Are we doing this or what?"

Behind him to the left, he heard Vaas mutter something that sounded like, "Playful banter, check."

Opheila raised her eyebrows and walked to meet him by the targets. "With a bow like that you'll want to come farther back. Here." She led him a few paces away. "Now take your draw."

Ayel pulled the drawstring back and felt the bow resist him, but his strength was matched well and he got it as far as it could go.

"Don't wear out the line just yet," she advised. "Nock one and show me your sight."

Taking the arrow she handed him, he set it to and pulled, aimed. He led with his left foot and held the fletching of the arrow in his right. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out, then opened them and found the arrowhead no longer lined up with the target. He adjusted his pose and re-sighted.

Opheila smacked him between the shoulder blades. "Stop slouching." He tried to straighten up, but apparently it wasn't good enough because she put a firm hand on his stomach from behind. "Hold more tension right here. It'll keep your upper body still."

"Unnecessary physical contact, check," whispered Vaas.

Tuning out his friend, with whom he would be having words later, Ayel did as she instructed and breathed again. Inhale. Exhale. Loose. He opened his hand as the arrow let fly. For a moment, it looked like it was going to strike dead center, but it suddenly veered, clipped the edge of the circular target, and clattered to the stones set beneath.

Ayel sighed. "Told ya. These hands weren't made for shootin'."

"Nonsense. "We can work with that," the pressure from Opheila's hand disappeared and she started bustling around with equipment table while still talking in a businesslike tone. The part of Ayel that wasn't listening to her wondered why she hadn't let go of him earlier. "We'll just need to find out if the problem is here –" she tapped the bow he was holding, "- or here." She poked him on the side of his head. "Now, Arya told me Eragon is a dead aim with his bow. I wonder where he could be." Still pondering, Opheila wandered over to the main doors leading back into the castle.

"Rapid change of the subject and removal from the vicinity, check," said Vaas. "I tell you, one of these days those two are gonna get hitched."

"Stuff it, hornhead." Ayel was listening because a sort of _whoosh_ing noise was getting louder and louder as they spoke. When it finally came to a head, a giant blue object came crashing down from the sky. It took a second to recognize Saphira because they were used to being around much smaller dragons. Eragon swung out of the saddle and leaped athletically down from her flank.

"Anyone want to tell me what's going –"

_GANGWAY! _All five of the other dragons shot forward and tackled Saphira, a cluster of wings and tails enveloping her before she finally broke out and trapped them, one by one, under each paw, and then Jeran, the fifth and smallest, ended up under her tail.

_Hold still, hatchlings, _she scolded. _This is not the time for games._

Opheila returned to the group with Angela and Solembum, who had come out through the castle doors. "What's the matter, ebrithil?" she asked, curious.

Eragon looked them all in the eye and took a breath. "We're taking a little trip."


	11. Nine: Alagaësian Approach

**Chapter Nine with dialogue brushup and continuity edits. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Nine: Alagaësian Approach**

**Ayel**

_Ayel struggled under the weight of the bunting. Sweat and half-dried blood ran down his shoulders and back from where the rough wood sat, cutting and straining him. The fourteen-year-old was a good head taller and several pounds heavier than he had been at eleven, slowly building muscle from the heavy labor he was forced to do, like the others in his village. As testament, this weight would have crippled him three years before, when the city was taken and he first entered the slavery he was now so used to._

_At the other end of the oak beams, Trevor was under equal strain, but dealing with it slightly better – he had always been bigger and stronger, though never as toned, so his muscle looked more like fat on his frame. The two young men shifted back and forth and then levered it so Ayel's end stood up and the other was in the air, so that they could drive it into the small trench that had been excavated for the post. Putting his hands on his knees, Ayel panted, trying to recover his breath and strength. He looked for his shirt, realized someone had stolen it, and sighed. Chuckling at his misfortune, Trevor leaned back against the post, just as tired but stoic to the last._

_"It's almost evening," said the taller, sandy-haired boy. "They'll be letting us go back in soon. You want to call it quits now?"_

_Ayel nodded, still looking at the ground. The slaves were allowed to return to their tents or huts when the sun set, and were roused or dragged out the minute it rose again. Despite living by circadian rhythm, it did not afford them enough sleep to put up with the intense overworking they often received. "The wardens will be pissed, but who gives a cow's arse what they want, I say." He spat in the dirt and then straightened to look at his friend. "Come to think of it, I think I'll go check on Leiri and Andrea, just to be sure." _

_Trevor's face displayed understanding and pity. He had no siblings, but the two had known each other long enough to both be worried about Ayel's younger sisters. Leiri was the older, only one year younger than Ayel, and oddly looked more like Trevor than him or Andrea. This was probably because their mother was related to his, which made the teens second cousins thrice removed on that side of the family. A lot of the people of their village could boast at least one such spot on their family tree; it was a tightly woven settlement and most everyone knew each other unless they'd been hiding under a rock for their entire life… which some people said old man Garrick had, but to hell with him anyway. All he did was sit there and then suddenly start shouting about the carnivorous squirrels in his basement whenever someone tried to talk to him._

_Trevor grunted and clapped Ayel on the shoulder. "Watch yourself, eh?" He gestured at his back. "Don't want to collect any more battle scars this late in the day." _

_If it was possible to both smirk and wince at the same time, that was what Ayel did. They both had accumulated a few scars from whippings, but nothing too extensive yet. The most they could do was try to stay out of the lashes' way, but the wardens had a great liking for doling out beatings, and the two of them found it difficult not to get into trouble. Ayel loved to fight, as well as not caring to hide his hatred of the guards and their commanders. Trevor usually had to pull him apart from them, or a fellow prisoner, just as they came to blows, which resulted in their both getting whipped. As for getting mixed up on his own, Trevor enjoyed finding creative ways to be lazy. His elaborate plans and contraptions got the job done, but didn't tire him out like the tasks set before him were supposed to, and he was thrashed whenever he was caught. And sometimes when he wasn't._

_"It's almost over. I'll bet we get sent in without a scratch on us," he said cheerfully. "Now get moving before you take root over there, fatty."_

_A grin. "That goes for you too, scrawny." Trevor made a rude gesture and got up from his resting spot to trundle away. Ayel returned it and started off in the opposite direction._

_The slave camp took up most of the original settlement, as well as the beach and the foot of the mountain closest to it. The fringes of the jungle stopped it short, and the remains of Doru Araeba were as yet untouched. When they had invaded, the Ruin had slaughtered the men over fifteen (with exception to those too old to fight) and captured the rest for save labor. The old village now was a place of work until death. A circle of huts and tents were arrayed around a square of hard-packed dirt where jobs were assigned, and then the slaves would be dispersed to the docks, the lumber camps, or the work sites. The docks were Ayel's favorite job, because you could go swimming after driftwood or take a net to get fish and splash around in the water until they caught on that you weren't doing anything productive. The lumber camps were as far as the Ruin were willing to go into the jungle; they feared it, but that didn't mean they didn't need wood. Cutting down and stripping the trees was hard work, but the construction sites were worse – hauling the wood and other materials to places where they wanted a new wall or whatever for their base in the mountains of Aras Thelduin. _

_The commanders were usually human, and none of them had been conscripted from the village; they'd all come with Melkaroth when he'd taken over. The Ruin affected them differently. Instead of twisting them- like it did to whatever they used to make their foul foot soldiers - it yellowed the skin, blackened the sockets around their eyes, gave them a nasty temperament, and bestowed other powers besides that Ayel had yet to see. The most powerful of these humans were on the High Council, Melkaroth's advisors, who fancied themselves some sort of Dark Order, as if they were the anti-Riders or what have you. The lower-ranked ones were wardens of the slave camps. The Ruined ground troops were a rare sight there, but even rarer was the trio of remaining Ra'zac – the High Council's pet assassins. Sometimes, at night, when a strange fear took hold of the camps, one could go outside and see them riding on their winged steeds, going who knew where._

_Most of the slaves weren't supposed to know this much about their captors, but Ayel had discovered, during an escape from roll call one morning, that he had an adept skill for stealth and was resourceful enough to usually not get caught. He went out at night, when he wouldn't be missed, and spied on the guards and wardens at their posts in the camps or on the walls of the mountain gates. He eavesdropped on their conversations and got mostly rumors, but eventually he found out what he now knew and no longer felt he had to discover more as often as he had. That opinion was also helped by the fact that the last time he'd gone out to spy, he'd been caught and given a sound drubbing by the guards who'd found him out, and then by the wardens when he got back to camp. _

_It didn't take him long to find Leiri when he got to the docks. She was small and slim with light flaxen hair, and pretty with it, which could only be a bad thing in a slave camp. As proof of this, a guard had cornered her and was talking with her avidly, leaning against the wall of a small building used as an equipment shed. Leiri had her back against the same wall, and was saying something that Ayel couldn't hear, but he could tell she was uncomfortable and scared. The man accosting her was big, though Ayel didn't figure him much taller than he was, and didn't look friendly. He had the black eyes and pallor to his skin that they all had, and a thin, gaunt face and long neck that protruded from his tabard and paltry leather armor. He was a low-ranking warden and most likely wanted to pull his rank on someone else, and just wanted to order people about for a bit. _

_Or his intentions were much more repulsive._

_Ayel was still far enough away that the man couldn't notice him, but he was within earshot now. He couldn't hear Leiri, but he could sure as hell hear the idiot who was messing with her. "You look awful delicate for all this work," he said. "Why don't you come with me where it's safe for pretty little girls like you?" He reached out a grubby hand to touch her face, but she flinched away. "Come on, I ain't gonna hurt y-" as he leaned forward, she drew back a hand and slapped him. Hard. _

_Then she kicked him in the groin. "I said to leave me alone!" Pride welled up inside Ayel's chest. He couldn't have ever been happier to see his sister become suddenly violent. She saw him and started to walk over, but a hand caught her wrist._

_"Blast it, girl! You'll pay for that!" The thin-faced guard was grimacing in pain, and his lip was split from her powerful backhand, but he was too proud to back off. Leiri struggled, but he held her in place and grabbed her other wrist when she tried to smack him again with a grip that would surely bruise._

_Ayel had seen enough. He ran up behind the warden and locked an arm around his throat. "I think what my sister means to say is that she's not allowed to date until she's my age!" He kicked one of the man's shins with his heel and forced him to one knee. Letting go of Leiri, the guard began to tug at Ayel's choker grip, eventually beating the smaller man's arm with his fists. Despite the repeated blows, Ayel held on long enough for Leiri to get a safe distance away, and then threw his wriggling charge to the ground like a wrestler. Although he'd be punished for fighting again, and the circumstances were less than recreational, he was beginning to feel the fierce joy that took him whenever he boxed with Trevor or the boys his age – that invincible feeling where pain only made him stronger and struggling for his life was the most fun he'd ever have._

_Dodging the guard's clumsy punches, Ayel ducked low and smothered the blows with a tackle, but didn't take it to the ground. Instead, he drove his knee into his opponent's ribs, and then smashed an elbow into his nose. Reeling, the man snarled and struck him in the face once, twice. Ayel's ears rang, but he didn't care. The impacts were heavy, but this fellow didn't hit much harder than Charles, the oldest and best fighter out of the boys in the village. Unfortunately, that comparison was rather difficult, seeing as Charles was no longer alive – he'd turned fifteen last summer. _

_Blocking the next few jabs, Ayel kept his guard up to his face, and then danced forward, slamming the heel of his hand into the thin-faced guard's split lip. He switched hands for an uppercut, and then gritted his teeth as a kick landed in his stomach in retaliation. As his enemy righted himself, he let off a right hook that boxed Ayel's ear and sent him spinning, hands covering his head to keep from being cracked in the skull. Once he recovered, the boy twirled, shoved the warden past him, and stomped on his knee as hard as he could. There was an audible snap. The man crumpled, groaning faintly. _

_Suddenly, Ayel noticed that everything had gone silent. There was a crowd of people between the sheds encircling the fight, but they had stopped jeering and taking bets as soon as someone new had arrived. And he thought he knew who. "Leiri, get out of here," he hissed at her. "As soon as you clear the crowd, start running." She nodded, wide-eyed, and turned to leave. Her footsteps slowly faded away._

_"Fighting again?" said a voice from behind him. It was bitter but cocky, like the speaker was sarcastic about everything he ever talked about. It was also deeper than Ayel's speech, but not especially deep – the impression of someone only slightly older, but enough to make a clear distinction. _

_Pivoting, Ayel looked his challenger straight in the eye. The newcomer stood taller than him or Trevor, with broad shoulders and immaculately clean plate mail armor. His hair was jet black and cut close to his head, and his complexion, of course, was the same as everyone else of his kind._

_"Hello, Kaziel," said Ayel without fear in his voice, though it was certainly in the pit of his stomach. "What, ah, brings you here?"_

_Kaziel, the head warden and commander of the slave camps, smiled. It was a very evil smile. Not a conniving or diabolical smile, just the grin of someone who enjoyed being cruel. "I heard there was a fight happening on my docks. What about you? Can I ask why you just crippled one of my men?" Behind him, a group of guards rushed forward and picked up the gaunt man with the broken knee, carrying him off to the infirmary. _

_Ayel's mouth was dry. Kaziel might appear conversational, but he knew what was coming next. The best thing to do was explain himself in a way that would appeal to the head warden and possibly minimize the penalty. "So the guards aren't supposed to fraternize with us, right? And this man was trying to put the moves on my sister. So she was telling him so and he got grabby and I thought, someone needs to screw him up for that and none of the other guards are gonna do it. So I did it. He'll be okay if you give that knee a week or two." He itched to make a break for it, but running from Kaziel was the worst idea you could have at a moment like this one._

_Still smirking, Kaziel hooked his thumb under his belt. Hanging from the belt was The Cat - a cat o' nine tails that was corded with leather, but the lashes were actually sharpened flakes of obsidian mined from the mountain – designed to draw maximum amounts of blood. "Anyone want to prove it?" he said, enjoying the calm before his own storm._

_"I'll vouch for that." The crowd stepped aside and Trevor was standing in the break. "You've caught him fighting before, sir. He doesn't lie."_

_"Lovely." The whip was gently, almost lovingly extracted from the belt. "Ayel, you know you're my favorite, but I can't have people running around and breaking my underlings' knees with no consequences." He said "favorite" in the way that a teacher will when referring to a pupil who misbehaves especially often. "I'll still have to set you up with Cat here. Just don't take it personally." He flashed a white, toothy smile again. "It's just business."_

_For a moment, Ayel's rebellious side tried to force his fists up again, but as he glanced at Trevor, he saw him shake his head. Swallowing with some difficulty, he knelt, wishing he had a shirt to sop up the blood he was about to lose. He was just glad Leiri was out of here, and that she and Adrianna wouldn't have to watch this._

_Without warning, a squadron of red-hot iron bars seemed to be laid across his back. He bit back a yell and leaned down, bracing his arms against the ground for the next strike. Another set of gashes was scored, and the breath hissed out of him. He knew Kaziel would continue until he cried out in pain, but the longer it took, the less likely the head warden was to keep going afterward. _

_The next lash had him seeing stars. And the next. _

_During the strokes that followed, he blacked out._

"Ah!" Ayel clutched his head and fell back, his vision flashing red and yellow. The memory had been longer and more vivid than any flashback he'd had previously. It was likely this was due to the techniques Eragon was helping him use to focus his mind. They were designed to reach into the fog of his amnesia for the memories that would be asked for when they arrived at Ilirea. Whatever the reason, using this process also resulted in a splitting migraine.

"Are you alright?" asked Eragon. The mental connection they'd been using had severed when the memory stopped.

The trainee groaned from where he was lying in the heather. "…fine. I'm fine. It'll pass." A moment later, the stabbing pain alleviated and he felt better about sitting up. For a moment his back had been on fire too, but there was nothing there but scar tissue now. Scars he'd earned a year ago. "Okay. I'm good."

They were sitting a ways off with Jeran and Saphira, while the rest of the group was practicing combat nearby. The dragons were all resting because they'd flown clear to the border from Doru Breoaldras, nonstop. A hazy outline on the horizon was all they could see of Hedarth, their first and only stop before they crossed the Hadarac and flew straight to Ilirea. The occasional clang of sword on axe or katar, and the odd war cry, permeated the air and rode on the wind that carried it from the east to the west. This backwind had helped them ride so far so fast, and gave them enough speed to reach their current camp in a matter of four days. This rest was the last they'd get before they entered Alegaësia, and went abroad to investigate the mysterious events that Eragon had hinted at, but the students knew little of. Ayel suspected that it had something to do with the Ruined Fanghur he and Opheila had encountered earlier in the week.

"That was intense," said Eragon. "And all of it was just a year ago?"

Ayel knit his brows. "Far as I can tell."

"But we still can't tell how you ended up here. Interesting." He drummed his fingers on the saddlebags next to him. "As I understand it, this Ruin is some kind of magical entity. From what you seem to remember, it can infect or empower people and animals. Some sort of cabal that learned to use it for their own purposes took over this settlement on Vroengard, where you lived, and enslaved or killed the people living there, including you and your family." He took a drought from his waterskin. "There are still a lot of gaps."

"I'm as lost as you are," said Ayel gloomily. "Whatever happened in between, I couldn't tell you. In fact, I couldn't tell you if these memories are even real."

After studying him for a second, Eragon motioned with his hand, as if shooing him off. "Okay, you're getting way too depressed about this. Go on over there and do something lighthearted. I'll handle the deep psychic ponderings." When Ayel made no move to leave, he flicked him on the forehead. "I said get over there!"

Sighing, the younger man got up from his seat and sidled over to where the others were sparring. It looked like Opheila had been trying to shoot with her bow, but was too amused by watching Vaas and Beq try to teach Astrid how to touch up on her axe work. The biggest impediment was Vaas and Astrid's height difference; he could turn around and search for her for minutes on end before he remembered to look down.

As Ayel approached, they were practicing parries and blocking with the axe blade. He didn't know much about fighting with axes, as he'd never used one himself, but he could understand the science of a weapon without knowing the art. There was a way to use it for attack and defense, just like any other tool of the trade. It looked like Astrid was blocking too wide and holding the blade too still, and so her parrying was barely there, glancing the blades away from her.

"Try this," he said without fanfare, squatting to be a little closer to her so he could actually help. "Use one hand to hold the axe and provide the power behind the swing. Use the other to move your wrist and direct it."

"Like this?" Astrid made a furtive movement, closer to what he was trying to explain but still a little off.

He showed her how to adjust her grip. "Like that. There are two ways you can block. You can use the flat of the axe and sort of shift the blade away, like _this_, or you can hook the blade of the enemy in the beard of the axe, like _this_. That way, when there's a big, ugly, ravenous cannibal coming at you like _this_-" he drew Hljödhr and held it over his head, drawing himself up to his full height with a horrible grimace on his face. "You can just pull his sword out of his hand, like _that_. Unless, of course, it's a big, ugly, ravenous cannibal with a giant sword, like Vaas." He grinned at the Kull, who was standing behind him, looking bemused and pretending to be insulted by the cannibal remark.

"In that case," he rumbled. "The big, ugly, ravenous cannibal just picks you up and gobbles you down, like _this_!" He reached out, quick as a striking krait, and closed his hand around Ayel's midriff. He lifted him off the ground and opened his mouth, showing way more fang than Ayel was comfortable with.

"Why you!" Ayel shook himself and Vaas dropped him, chuckling. "Die the death!" He swiped at the Urgal with his sword and the two began to duel, laughing too hard to actually fight in earnest. Beq was shaking his head, calmly exasperated – his fellow trainees often had that effect on him. Astrid was still trying to figure out what she was supposed to do if she couldn't hook the blade with her axe and it was too heavy to block. However, whenever she started to ask a question, she had to break off and duck or dodge the pell-mell swings that Ayel and Vaas were taking at each other. Opheila had given up her bow and was just watching, a broad smile on her face as her friends made fools of themselves.

Eventually, the dueling pair ran out of breath and collapsed, still giggling madly. Ayel let the thick grass cushion his fall and started to relax, but was shaken up almost right away, as Vaas practically caused a minor earthquake when he hit the ground. Everything calmed down and he settled again. For a moment, all was quiet. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, and all things considered, so far it wasn't that bad of a day.

That was when a spear zipped through the air and buried itself in the dirt right next to Ayel's face.

Ayel was so surprised he didn't say anything.


	12. Ten: To Kill A Murdered Man

**Chapter Ten: To Kill a Murdered Man**

**Ayel**

Ayel rolled to his feet, reaching over his shoulder. Hljödhr's sword belt was unique; though he carried it on his back and it could be drawn from thence, it could also be dropped to his hip in the conventional "duelist" style carry by manipulating a series of straps. The familiar weight of the sword slid to his waist, and he grabbed its leather-wrapped hilt, wishing he'd brought a shield to catch any further incoming spears.

Beside him, Vaas hadn't even bothered to stand all the way up or draw Vindkverst from its scabbard. Instead he crouched and opened his paws in a wrestler's stance, baring his fangs. Several more ringing scrapes signaled that the others had also freed their blades. Feeling a sense of isolation as everyone closed their minds, Ayel was nonetheless aware that the dragons had perked up, letting gouts of flame lick their teeth with jaws agape.

Charging at them was a large group of human nomads, perhaps forty, armed to the teeth and decked out in garments of bone, jewels, and twine. Only their decorative loincloths seemed designed to actually cover an area of skin. The frontrunner, a tall, dark man with an ornate headdress, was missing his spear.

Attacking just one dragon and Rider with this many men would seem reasonable, but they would still lose. _But six?_ Ayel almost smirked. This was suicidal – not that he planned to kill any of them if he could avoid it. The warriors seemed angry but nervous, and would probably be willing to parley. Their leader alone did not seem fearful. He stopped them just inside spear-shot, their skidding footfalls carrying sand into the oasis, and held up his scimitar, shouting in a strange tongue.

"He says he missed you on purpose," Eragon translated from behind. Looking back, Ayel saw that his teacher had not drawn his sword nor risen from his seat. Saphira, however, was growling deep in her throat and seemed to be tensing to pounce. "These are local hunters. WE are trespassing on their land. He wants to know why we include in our company one of his own people and a foul man-beast."

Vaas snorted. "I took a bath yesterday. I can't smell _that_ –"

"He forbids you to speak," continued Eragon as the nomad struck up a rant. "He curses you for slaughtering his people. He also demands that we hand you and Beq over as prisoners."

Naroki hissed. _Not likely._

"Are you kidding?" Opheila was right at Ayel's shoulder. She looked incredulous. "He's in no position to make demands. There are six dragons staring up his nose!"

"What does this wretch want with us?" Beq said tersely. The vehemence with which he spoke caught Ayel off guard. _Was he sold into thralldom by a tribe of his own?_

After exchanging a few guttural words, Eragon turned back. "You will be welcomed into the tribe. Vaas will be killed in the next ritual of the full moon."

"_What?_" Astrid was clutching her axe, white-knuckled and pale. "That's barbaric!"

_You know, they_ are _barbarians, _Thera pointed out.

Lowering his horns, Vaas glared at the lead hunter. Ithros unsheathed his massive claws and drummed them on the sandstones threateningly. A number of the men in the main group shifted uneasily, muttering and glancing in the direction they'd come from. However, the chief was unfazed; he stared Vaas straight in the eyes. His own eyes were an unusual yellow.

_Hold it right there, _Jeran barked. _Ayel, you seeing what I'm seeing?_

Ayel frowned. It was hard to tell because his skin was so dark, but he swore that the yellow-eyed man had black, patchy circles around those same eyes. The aggressive behavior… the talk of ritual murder… the suicidal uncaring… _He's Ruined. _"Eragon," he said in a low voice. "Look at his eyes." A half second of silence passed, and then a ring of steel announced that even Eragon had deigned it was high time to draw his sword.

"Opheila, Astrid," he said softly. "Bows. Now. Vaas and Beq, up front and keep them off us until they close our range. Ayel, you have the target. And if any of you dragons are about to fly, don't – there are crossbowmen in the rocks, and they are _not human_."

_We're not going to just slaughter them all, are we? _Ragnar sounded a little appalled.

"The nomads will break and run once their leader is down," Ayel cut in before Eragon could risk a long explanation. "It's him and his… friends we have to worry about."

"Ayel?" From Opheila's tone, he could tell he wasn't making sense – even though she was already stringing her bow. The others were less confused, but she knew more about what they were facing, and more about his own past, from their reports to Eragon and their encounter with the Ruined Fanghur.

"No time!" Eragon cut in, taking charge. "Be ready on my mark." Glancing back, Ayel shot Opheila a look that said, _I'll tell you later._

The Ruined chief held his sword in front of him and barked in his garbled language. His fellows reluctantly hefted their own weapons and started to fan out. A few ratchet-like clicks echoed from behind the rocks – the sound of loading crossbows. Dust shifted in the wind.

"Ayel, make your move."

Standing and drawing himself up to his full height, the black-haired youth sidled over to the yellow-eyed man at the head of the hunters' rough "delta". He held his sword low, angled at his side. When he'd gotten within a few feet, the nomad leader drove his back foot out in a ready position. The curved tip of his scimitar twitched, glinting in the desert sunlight.

With that, Ayel feinted and lunged, moving so fast his own eyes couldn't follow it, and swept Hljödhr up and into the Ruined man's stomach, shearing flesh and bone. His spine split, but didn't break completely. Of course, that didn't mean he shouldn't have been dead. Instead, the black magic running through his veins held him up. His eyes smoldered with unbridled fury, showing no register of pain, and he whipped up his sword and sliced once.

Ayel flinched, caught off guard, and felt a burning line cross his left cheek. In reply, he pulled his sword from the man's gut with a sickening noise and cut off his hand. It and the curved blade fell to the dirt.

The nomad who had once been in control of his own choices, perhaps a noble and capable leader, and had probably had a family of his own, stared at him with those hate-filled eyes. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he opened it and spoke the one word of Ayel's tongue that he must have known. "You."

The raw animosity in his voice almost knocked Ayel over, and he sensed an attack was about to mount on his mind. _No time to waste. Can't trust my wards. Got to finish him and help the others – this time he needs to stay dead._

"Me," he agreed calmly, even though he doubted they'd ever met before. Then he struck off his enemy's head.

Pandemonium. Thirty-nine nomad warriors threw down their weapons and ran for the dunes as the dragons roared, setting loose streams of fire. At the same time, a volley of crossbow bolts streaked toward their party from the cluster of rocks.

Eragon shouted a word, and the bolts fell to the ground, but now came a horde of black-garbed creatures from between the boulders. They carried twisted, warped weapons, designed to inflict maximum pain rather than to efficiently kill. Scythes, hooks and barbs bristled as the crowd of Ruined foot soldiers bore down on the twelve.

To grasp the threat, one must understand, as Ayel did, that these were not common rabble. These were spawn of dark magic, bred to annihilate and assimilate. Each stood taller than a man. Though appearing shriveled and malnourished, even fragile, each had an eerie strength to its thin arms. And each had coal-black skin and glowing orange-yellow eyes, unnaturally large and bright. They would have been intimidating and formidable opponents to any fighter.

That said, they were nonetheless unlucky to be facing Riders and dragons.

The first thing Ayel heard, over the thundering footsteps and the battle cries of the Ruined, was the distinct _twang_ of bowstrings as Astrid, Eragon, and Opheila returned fire. They emptied their quivers methodically, reloading and shooting in a fluid motion at speed he wouldn't have thought possible. Trios of the enemy dropped at almost every interval, but it wasn't enough progress to halt the swarm.

The first thing he thought, as he backpedaled so Vaas and Beq could meet their charge, was, _How in blazes did they get this far inland? _He strove at the half-beasts' minds, as man and Kull hacked them to pieces, and wrested a few fragments from their simple memories – darkness, tunnels, roiling waves. Blankness, with nothing but a hungering desire to kill.

_A happy bunch,_ commented Jeran. _I think it's time they got a little… FIRED UP about something! _He opened his jaws and blasted the line of Ruined with amber flames, setting a platoon of the creatures on fire.

_Really? You're wasting that line when only I can hear you? _Raising his sword, Ayel saw that the attackers had begun to stream past Beq, Ithros, and Vaas. "Look alive!" he shouted warningly. Thera and Naroki sprang like cats, tearing at individual members of the crowd.

The first Ruin reached Ayel, and as he was about to react, a silver flash jumped from under his arm and downed it. He half-turned and found himself back-to-back with Opheila. "I've got your rear nailed down! Face up front, Dreamy Eyes!"

Smirking, and tasting the blood tricking down to his jaw from his cut, Ayel pivoted and caught the strike of a flanged halberd just as it slashed toward his neck. He exchanged a flurry of blows with the attacker and the slipped past its staff with an adroit bit of footwork, cleaving it from hip to shoulder.

At about the same instant, he heard a muffled impact behind him and Opheila's shoulder blades crashed into his back. Concern grabbed at him for a second, but he heard her defiant snarl and a clash of Brightsteel on bone a second later. Satisfied that she could handle it, he turned back to meet the tide.

Suddenly, Eragon's voice rang out. "Ra'zac! Everybody down!" A blur of grey darted from the rocks, and the sun was blotted out by a massive shape. The Lethrblaka opened its batlike wings and let off an unearthly screech, ten times as shrill and piercing as any Fanghur's.

A horrible stench burned the inside of Ayel's nose. There was only one, but it obviously had never gone near any kind of water. Its leathery hide was pockmarked and filthy; its beak was cracked and almost looked like it was rotting. The Ra'zac on its back held aloft a leaf-bladed sword and hissed, cloak flapping in the wind.

Fear hit him like a whip, but he shook it off. "That thing's as big as Saphira!" Throwing an arm over Opheila's shoulder to pull them both down, he ducked as the Ra'zac and its steed swooped low.

"What do we do?" she yelled in his ear, pushing him away so she could get up. "Eragon!"

But Eragon, halfway into Saphira's saddle, was distracted by Ragnar. The brown dragon had leapt into the air and was barreling toward the Lethrblaka in a display of extraordinary stupidity and bravery. "Ragnar, don't! Get out of there!"

A half dozen crossbow bolts hit him in the wings and legs, and Astrid screamed. Ragnar fell, roaring and thrashing, but not before he'd landed at least one hit – his claws scored a shallow gash in the Lethrblaka's ribs. It shrieked and dove after him, but Saphira launched herself and Eragon at it and they tackled it to the ground.

Picking himself up as quickly as possible, Ayel grabbed Opheila's arm. "We can't let them fire another volley!" She nodded and stumbled away, calling to Thera.

"Ragnar!" Astrid ran to him, but was blocked by one of the Ruined, a huge specimen armed with two scalloped swords. It leered at her and swung, but she jumped over the strike and smashed her axe into the side of its head, springing onto its shoulder as it fell and using it as an improvised footstool to throw herself towards her downed dragon.

_Jeran! Help her! _The dragon looked up from what he'd been zealously chewing and bolted over to cover Astrid while she tried to heal Ragnar's wounds. Above them, Thera was digging through the fleeing crossbowmen and Naroki and Beq were racing to help Opheila. Someone shouted, and a flash of light shook the ground beneath Ayel's feet, knocking him onto his back.

An unfriendly shadow fell over him as one of the Ruined raced over to drive its sword into his abdomen. Before its strike could fall, or he could defend himself, a purple triangle appeared in the middle of its ribcage. It grunted in surprise, and Naroki stuck her head out from behind, grabbing it between her teeth and pulling it off Beq's katar like a shish kebab. The dark-skinned Rider was breathing hard and had a few scrapes on his elbows and knees, but otherwise seemed unhurt. Ayel accepted his outstretched hand. "Appreciate the save. How many do you think are left?"

"Fifteen, plus the Ra'zac," he replied. "I'm mopping up. Tell Vaas and Ithros to fall in." He adjusted his buckler and sprinted away. Naroki followed, tail lashing behind her.

It didn't take long to spot Vaas - he was on one knee, surrounded by four of the Ruined and bleeding from a fist-sized hole in his chest. Regardless of the gaping hole where his deltoid muscle should have been, he continued to swing his greatsword with frenzied energy. Ithros was crouched behind him, and as Ayel approached, he swatted at an unlucky Ruin that tried to outflank his Rider.

"Late for the party, sword-brother!" bellowed the Kull. "At least we both got favors!"

Ayel put a hand to his cheek. It came away redder than he was comfortable with. "What, this? This is a scratch." He twirled around Vaas's legs and stabbed one of their attackers through the mouth. "You've got a perfect chunk of raw Urgalness waiting to be reinserted into your manly chest somewhere around here. That's a party favor." The greatsword looped over his head, cutting down the last two of the Ruined.

"True," grinned Vaas. "But it's no fun once the bleeding stops and all it does is hurt." At this Ithros growled. "I know, I know. 'Urgals don't feel pain.' Get over it, you big lizard."

The three of them turned as a roar of victory sent tremors through the earth. Saphira was crouched with bloodied maw wide open, over the dead Lethrblaka. The Ra'zac was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Eragon. Ragnar had been healed up, and the Riders were making their way to the dune where he, Astrid, and Jeran were parked.

On the way there, Ayel almost had a heart attack when a black fist burst out of the sand in front of him, flinging dust for several feet. It clawed at his boots, but another, human hand grabbed its wrist and pulled it back under. Ayel blinked, more than four feet off the ground where he'd jumped almost into Vaas's arms.

Eragon rose out of the dune, sputtering, armor and skin caked in beige sand. Brisingr glittered with green metallic blood. He coughed. "Two to go." His eyes narrowed. "You finished them all off?"

"If we weren't in cardiac arrest, we would tell you that yes, we did," said Ayel shakily. Vaas chuckled and set him down, and they both sheathed their swords. "Smooth entrance, master."

Eragon smiled. "Thanks. I hope you aren't the only ones left."

_No. They're over there, _Ithros pointed with a wing. _Tending to the small-hotheaded-one._

"You mean Ragnar?"

_I know his name. _

"But Jeran's smaller than he is, wouldn't he – " Ayel started.

_You're all small to me… except Saphira-den-mother and Fírnen-quick-jaws._

The four of them were interrupted by Saphira, who landed next to Eragon with her usual grace, blue scales reflecting the sun on the dunes. A number of words passed between dragon and Rider while they walked.

Opheila was healing a long cut on Thera's flanks. Looking up, her eyes widened as the passed over Vaas's side. "Angvard's unmentionables! What did you do?"

"Morningstar," huffed the Kull. "The idiot stabbed me with it. (Seriously, who _stabs _people with a _morningstar_?)" He considered the wound. "I don't think I can heal this."

"I've got it," said Eragon, steeping forward. He reached up and began to chant spells to knit the muscle back together, pale light flowing from his hand to the wound.

Ayel drew level with Jeran, and was pleased to see that his partner was not hurt. The amber dragon nudged his hand with his nose and hummed as his Rider scratched him under the chin. Past them, Astrid was looking off into the distance, while Ragnar was resting, looking sobered by his earlier axing by the Lethrblaka. A certain amount of friendly concern surfaced in Ayel's mind. _It probably bothered her to kill today._

_Yeah, we should have toughened her up a bit._

_Mh… maybe not. _Breaking off to wander over to her, Ayel noticed Opheila walking up to him.

"She's a little shaken up," said the brunette. "After the little scare with Ragnar, plus all the fighting in general." When he turned, he could see her face, and the worry for their friend written on it. Her eyes held some gentleness, but some challenge, as if she was willing to handle it but dared him to as if it was his fault.

"I'll talk to her," he volunteered. "She needs to know what we faced today wasn't like killing a person." He made to keep going.

"Wait," she blurted out. "…here." As Ayel looked back, she raised a hand and motioned. "Your face."

"It's just a –" His fingers brushed the open cut. "Ah! Okay, ow. That _hurts._"

"Let me." She smacked his hand away and held her own to his cheek, murmuring a line in the ancient language. An itching spread under his skin as it fit back together. While the spell took effect, he sought to catch her eyes with his own, uncomfortable at her display of affection.

She wouldn't meet his stare until she couldn't avoid it, and when she did, what may have been a flush crept in around her cheekbones, but she was too proud to break down and stared back. In a second, the healing was done, and she gently lifted her hand away.

"I could've done it myself," Ayel protested.

Opheila looked down. "Someone's got to do it when you never pay attention until you've already bled out." She brushed past him, bumping his hip with her own. "Go on. I'll tell them you're trying to preserve Astrid's sanity." She waved a hand dismissively in his direction as she headed toward the group.

A little rattled, Ayel muttered a curse and called out, "Don't go too far! I've got a score to settle with you."

"Those are fighting words," she grinned, catlike. "Okay, we'll talk later."

Shaking his head, he resumed his course toward Astrid, who looked distraught. "Hey, he said without a small amount of trepidation. "You alright?"

"We kind of massacred them, didn't we?" she said abruptly. Her blonde hair was straying in the breeze, and her armor and kirtle, soiled with blood and dirt like everyone else's, looked as sad as the expression on her face. "And he was _human_."

Ayel sighed. "Astrid, he would have killed me – "

"But he was alive!" That came out more forcefully than he expected. "They _all_ were. I understand that we had no choice, but..."

"He wasn't himself. The other things… they were never even people." He took a breath. "You wouldn't have killed them if you had the choice. That makes you better than them."

"Would you have?" She spoke this so softly and so unsure that he almost didn't hear her for lack of confidence in what he _was_ hearing. "I saw how much you… enjoyed fighting that man, that thing he'd turned into." She looked up, her red-rimmed brown eyes plaintive, accusing. "Would you have killed them, given the choice?"

Ayel let the words strike a chord. To see this with her eyes, no living thing should have had to suffer death, or indeed suffer at all, by the will of another. Such altruism, such pure, honest kindness… it seemed foolish, but also a rare kind of beautiful. To live with a philosophy like that would be extremely difficult, but what did it matter to someone like Astrid?

He knelt so that his eyes were level with hers and took her tiny hands in his companionably. She didn't resist, but just _looked_, hopeful behind a guarded expression.

"We let the nomads escape," he said gently. She nodded. "Astrid, you're my friend. I trust you, and I hope you trust me. You don't know me very well, but I don't know me very well, so it even out." He gave a nervous laugh. "You'll end up knowing the whole story soon… but for now, let's just say he recognized me because I recognized him, for who and what he'd become. I didn't see him as a person. He was already a victim. They all were. We didn't kill them, Astrid. We helped them move on. I think the others, once they know everything, will see it the same way."

The dwarven girl relaxed a little. "What are they?"

"Something I've had to repeat too many times," he said tiredly. "Can it wait till we're with the others?"

"Of course it can." Astrid squeezed his hands. "You're not a bad person, Ayel. I don't think you'll remember being one, either." She smiled.

Ayel smiled back sadly. "Oh, we'll see." He stood up, helped her to her feet, and let her go to Ragnar while he returned to the others. Her words and logic had humbled him, and he already predicted that his past self had some things to answer for.

"Well handled, Dreamy Eyes," Opheila drawled from where she and Thera had been watching. Taking brisk steps, she walked over and shoved him in the chest. "She looks better."

"I'm glad you think so too. Now can I have a new nickname?" he complained as he tried to regain his balance. "Angela's was bad enough…"

"Hmm…" She pretended to be deep in thought. "Maybe you'll get a pet name."

Ayel raised as eyebrow. "I thought pet names were for when you're a couple."

"Hmm...don't dislike the sentiment, but I'm not fond of labels."

"Um, okay?"

"That's what I thought." She kept walking, forcing him to follow her.

"About that," Ayel began cautiously. "Thanks for…having my back today."

Opheila smirked. "Again, someone's got to do it when you leave your ass wide open." Pivoting suddenly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along behind her. "Come on. Let's go tell them your whole thing, about the thing."

"Oh, very descriptive," he said sarcastically, struggling to win free of her grip. "I'm really looking forward to your support if I miss any details".

Bickering, though not unpleasantly, the two of the continued toward the waiting Riders to tell them all exactly what they were facing.


	13. Eleven: Blood Runs Thicker

**Chapter Eleven: Blood Runs Thicker **

**Eragon**

Hedarth had grown since Eragon had last seen it.

Rather than a collection of mostly abandoned mud-brick huts, roofs were now raised high around the square, and an entire community was situated around the new trading post. Relations between the dwarves and the elves had slowly unwound from tense to tolerable, and the hub of activity in the center plaza was enough to make him feel a small, isolated ache at the memories of Carvahall it brought. Similar memories surfaced also, not all of them his. It was a disorienting effect from the Eldunarya, and, less familiar, from his callback training with Ayel.

_Are you well, Little One?_ Saphira was more concerned than her tone let on.

The Rider sent a steady assurance through their mental link. _They'll pass. It's not important. _

The elves were fewer than the dwarves here, being farther southeast than many of their kind cared to go. Even fewer were the humans, mostly nomads, who came for the trade as well as news of the realm. Though he scrutinized them closely, Eragon detected no taint of Ruin about them, even when he used magic to try and sense its presence – difficult as it had proved to be; at the oasis he'd hardly felt a thing until he actually blundered into their minds. That much was a concern for later. Clearly the chief Ayel had killed was on his own… for now.

He and his apprentices had been welcomed into Hedarth with open arms by none others than Astrid's family. Upon their arrival at the gates, a trio of dwarves had bolted out of the heavy oak doors and smothered the golden-haired girl with enthusiasm.

It took a minute to make it clear that these were her older brothers and not assassins attempting to crush her to death. There was Svein, the oldest, dark of beard and with quick, never-still eyes, Arnkel, blond and somewhat heavier, a quiet and polite gentleman, and Kol, the youngest, who didn't speak a lick of the human tongue and had only a few wisps on his chin. They all wore rudimentary armor and had axes at their belts.

Bustling after came her mother, who sealed any question as to whom Astrid's fair complexion took after. She was Ilse, a plump, ruddy-faced woman with more force and finesse than Eragon had ever seen behind the sword of a grown warrior. She was a marvel to behold, whether swearing at the stove or bellowing even louder at her unruly sons.

Her husband, Hord, was a massive, barrel-chested dwarf with a beard that bloomed outward like a gorse thicket and a heavy brow, bolstered by the impressive build of an aging warrior defiantly remaining in his prime. He hugged Astrid after her mother, and roughly pulled Eragon into a one-armed embrace as well, greeting him as a kinsman.

The Riders were shoved inside the Ulricsson hall, a two-story building overlooking the square. Ilse set her sons to constructing a makeshift roost for the dragons on the neighboring rooftops, not at all fazed by the six fire-breathing lizards entering her hearth, while enlisting Astrid in the kitchen quicker than anyone could even sit down. Whatever she was cooking, it involved a lot of fire and a lot of invocations in rapid Dwarvish, none of which sounded particularly pleasant. It also smelled amazing and made Eragon's mouth water with the scent of red meat.

_No,_ said his conscience. _You're supposed to have gone vegetarian, mostly._

_Venison, _complained his stomach.

The concession was grudging. _Maybe just a little._

_Thick, juicy backstrap venison with a garnish of fresh parsley, _the rebellious organ continued to whine.

Saphira interrupted his impromptu war with himself. _This is silly. Eat what you want, when you want it. That's what I do. _She was very happy now, because Kol and Svein had made a game out of throwing raw meat to the dragons. Arnkel, the responsible one, was picking up more food from the market with Hord.

Eragon had made an effort to compensate the dwarf for his expense, but the Ulricssons were a wealthy family and Hord had been adamant. In any other situation, he would have not risked insulting Astrid's family, but the Riders were a large group of unusual variation in appetite.

"It is mine honor which I stake on the privilege of feeding you, Shadeslayer, and my daughter, whom you teach, and her friends who you keep close to her. I do understand why you are concerned, but no matter your numbers or your species, I would not take your gold for my own head."

"Well, let's hope it never comes to that," Eragon had replied, reluctantly pocketing his purse. Feeding six dragons and a Kull, let alone four growing teenagers and himself would be horrific.

_Actually, that brings up another point. _He looked up from where he sat dozing. The table was long, a sturdy wooden affair, with hundreds of dents and scratches knotting the wood from years of a rowdy clan of dwarves. A small part of Eragon tugged in his chest, longing for the type of memories within this simple table, those of a home life filled with laughter and warmth and companionship.

That, in a sense of presence during childhood, was over for him; it had been over the day Roran left the farm in Carvahall. He gazed around the room. Maybe the others sitting with him had a short time of it, until all hell broke loose like it always seemed to.

When Astrid wasn't running back and forth from her mother's post at the stove to the table, she took the chance to sit down with them. Her hair looked like it was in danger of flying away, and her rosy cheeks were even more so from the heat and nervous rush in the kitchen. She loved being home, but seemed high-strung and, deeper down, slightly uncomfortable for some reason, but not one of immediate importance, as she still found time to laugh at Vaas, who took up the whole end of the table.

He drummed his massive fingers on the hardwood and said several things in an undertone that made the others choke upon their mulled heather ale. Once he reached out and tried to help with the chores, but Ilse chased his hand away with a wooden spoon, a matronly frown scored across her face.

"Your hands are for fighting! Not cooking. Keep those paws out of my pots!" She rapped his knuckles, lapsing into curse-ridden Dwarvish once more. That spoon looked more deadly in her hands than if she'd been holding Vaas's own greatsword.

Even Beq cracked what might have been close to a half smile at this. Or was that a grimace of pain – he'd been hiding some kind of injury since the incident with the nomads, and once it became too much for him to conceal, Eragon hoped to teach him a lesson, as well as provide medical assistance, of course.

However, the mother in the room had also noticed, and slipped some willow leaves into his ale to dull the pain. Where had Hord _found_ her? She reminded Eragon of his Aunt Marian, or perhaps Birgit, without the actual homicidal tendencies… that had been proven, anyway.

Ayel was still in stitches about his shield mate's quick rejection. He seemed, at first, to be entirely at ease: he'd shouted and wrestled with Astrid's brothers and charmed the lethal spoon straight out of her mother's hands. Once that was out of the way, though, he seemed to avoid the center of attention, preferring to sit quietly and only speak up on occasion. Maybe his energy had been forced to the surface. _Wonder what he's stewing in to distract him like this._

_He's always distracted, _said Saphira, who was now bored as she'd nearly filled her gaping hole of an appetite.

_Well, maybe it's because he doesn't have much personal space right now, _the human mused with just a hint of humor in his voice.

The one who seemed truly calm was Opheila, who talked and smiled with no great effort, relaxed against the back of her chair. Before they arrived, she'd brought up that between long flights and the battle in itself, most of their conversation had been the plans to reach the Imperial mainland and the nature of their enemy.

Eragon had realized she was right and that it would be good to get a break; after all, he was barely their age when he'd been pulled into a larger world himself.

She sometimes helped out Astrid when her mother wasn't looking, but otherwise was content to stay put and just have some time to chat with her fellow trainees. In accordance with Eragon's earlier remark, she was seated very close to Ayel, pressed right up against his side. Neither of them seemed to notice.

Eragon sat at the other head of the table. It did not escape him that Hord had ceded both places of honor to his guests. He had been too deep in thought to touch his ale so far, but now he took a quaff and tasted a cider-like, tangy brew track a heated line down his throat. He coughed pointedly and the apprentices broke off their conversation and looked at him. "Just a quick word to the wise," he said quietly, leaning toward them. "When the food does come, don't clean the platters. Leave just a little when you're serving yourself."

Vaas blinked, looking a little hurt. "Whatever for?"

"Because if there's nothing left, in keeping with dwarven hospitality and tradition, Ilse will assume you're still hungry and go door to door for food if she has to. It's a common custom this far north, and I'd rather not invoke it, especially when we clearly won't need to."

"Don't get greedy," said Opheila. "Got it."

_Losers,_ crowed Ragnar. _We got endless portions!_

_Oh, shut your fire starter, _Astrid snapped, unusually terse and sounding out of breath even in her mental voice.

Various intonations of surprise and merriment followed. These included things like, _Whoa! Astrid has a backbone! _And, _The words wound like the axe!_

Once the general focus was off the current conversation, Ayel gently touched Opheila's arm and she shifted, watching as he stood and walked over to sit next to Eragon. The Head Rider straightened, appraising his student. "Something I should know?"

"I hope you do know, because I'm about to ask you a question." The comment carried wit, but the black-haired youth's face stayed serious. "Where are we headed once we cross the border? We've said Ilirea, but I have a feeling we won't stay for long - that we _shouldn't_ stay for long," he said with more emphasis.

After a moment of holding his gaze, Eragon folded his hands and sat back in his chair. "You think there's going to be an attack somewhere, don't you?"

Ayel smirked, unsettled but not surprised at it. "As usual, you can tell where I'm going before I get there. Yeah, it'll be one of the port cities, and soon. I've been getting snatches, just fragments, of a flashback since we arrived… and I think it was recent. Before I escaped from the island, I overheard some things that I'm sure Melkaroth's council wouldn't want us to know, if you catch my meaning. It was like, 'Our first attacks shall come from the sea' or whatever."

"That sounds like what I saw in the foot soldiers' minds," Eragon said thoughtfully. "Tell you what. You go back over there, and I'll worry about the Ruined tonight. I'm sure the Varden will have a lot to say once we get there anyhow. Add that to the fact that they know even less about where we'll end up that we do, and we'd best just let it play out."

"What?" Ayel had furrowed his brows in confusion, but now a sly expression crept across his face. "Wait a minute. They _do_ know we're coming, right?" When his master didn't say anything, his smile got even bigger. "Are we even supposed to be going?"

"Well, that isn't entirely -"

"They told you not to leave with us, didn't they? You little rebel!" He threw back his head and laughed much harder than was necessary. "Oh, man! Wait till I tell the others! Bwahahahahahah!"

Eragon raised his hand, a little too miffed to remain serene. "Okay, look. They're probably going to be mad, because we're jumping the catapult here, but they don't understand what we're up against." He paused. "They wanted to wait and finish your training up until you were all supposed to move, and then bring you in and examine your memories in detail."

The matter having turned serious, Ayel had regained his composure and was listening intently. "And we don't have time for that. Plus I kind of like my memories as personal as they are right now, and would prefer they not rummage around in my head."

"We should let them at least make sure they're not planted, but yes, we'll tell them what we can without any intrusion. Just… be prepared for a less-than-warm reception."

And just as quickly, he was laughing at him again. "Less-than-warm? Arya's going to be furious with you! Gods, I can't wait to see the look on her face! 'Scuse me a second." He leaped out of his chair and tumbled over to where he'd been sitting next to Opheila and Beq earlier. "Guys, I just found out the funniest thing!" Less than half a moment later, they were _all_ laughing at him.

Eragon sighed and looked into his mug to see how much ale was left in it.

**Ayel**

They laughed. Of course they did. It was funny.

Ayel grinned the whole time, taking in Vaas and the girls' ringing mirth. Beq was still stoically quiet, but the guy just wasn't a smiler. Normally it would bother him, just a little, but tonight he had something else on his mind. He waited until the normal ones were done mimicking the act of wiping tears from their eyes to say it.

"There's another thing, though," he started off slowly. His tone was different, and they sobered up quickly to regard him with no small amount of curiosity. His sudden status as go-between from Eragon to them had resulted in an influx of critical information across the dinner table, which meant paying attention was crucial. "When we get to the Varden leadership, they're going to be pissing mad, and what's more, they're going to want to look over my memories, and possibly all of ours from the battle." After a few troubled looks were exchanged, he continued. "I myself want them inside my head as little as possible. I'm sure you all feel the same."

"Damn straight," growled Vaas. "I might not even let someone I knew sift through my life like so much paper."

"Exactly. So, I kind of want to tell them as much as possible without having to show them. For that, I need a boon from each of you." He hesitated. "I know we've all got each other's backs, but I'm asking anyway. Can I trust you guys to back me up when they start asking questions?"

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and Opheila spoke from next to him. "Don't worry about it. Did you expect us to say we'd leave you hanging out to dry?"

Vaas's expression morphed into a more supportive, conspiratorial sort of scowl. "Yeah, really. It's not like we're not in this together or anything. If they don't trust you, then they won't trust us. Besides, we're sword brothers."

"And sisters," said Astrid as she sat down, having overheard the conversation in passing. "You were right, you don't have to ask. We can trust each other, right?"

Beq was looking directly at him, something he was usually too distant to do to anyone. The dark, burly teenager gave a single nod, which spoke just as much as the others had. However isolated he liked to appear, he was in.

Internally, Ayel was relieved. He'd wanted to believe that he knew they would say this, but in truth he was still very uncertain about where he stood among them. It was good to be sure that they were with him and, as a result, he was with them. Something about the way they reacted didn't just say that, but also sounded a little like they were acknowledging him as some kind of leader. That was a lot of responsibility to be entrusted with, and they just gave it to him. "Thanks," he said, relaxing into his seat. "It means more than you think."

"It shouldn't have to," Astrid reassured him. "You got here a little late, but that doesn't mean you're any less one of us. Or any less of a person because you can't remember as much." Her intuition was shockingly sound. Ayel was feeling similar concerns and was a little scared that she could read him that well. Then again, the dwarven girl was one of the most empathic people he'd ever met.

"Thanks for summing that up," he said dryly. "Well, after that in-depth analysis of all my personal fears, let's all enjoy a delicious meal together." She was a little embarrassed and looked like she wanted to apologize but since Vaas and Opheila were snickering, she was able to put together that he was being sarcastic and Ilse yelled at her to come help take the food to the table anyway.

Once the scent of meat and bread had wafted throughout the entire hall, Svein and Kol came crashing down the stairs. They leaped haphazardly into chairs across from Ayel and likely would have started throwing plates if the meal hadn't been placed right under their noses. At the same time, Hord and Arnkel got through the doors with bunches of fruits and vegetables, which Ilse wrested free of their hands and started washing furiously, dragging them to their seats on the way.

Ayel struck up a conversation along with his fellow Riders, jumping at the chance to learn more about the culture he was suddenly surrounded by. All the while, the roasted deer and fresh sourdough steamed on the dishes, flanked by whole birds and something that looked like the haunch of a giant boar.

Once Ilse was satisfied with the washing, she tossed it onto a few more plates and slammed it down on the table though not with anger or any other negative emotion. "Werg," she said, and for the first time she sounded exhausted. "It is done. With no doubt this is the finest meal I have prepared in my time."

"Are you ready to lie down and die now, mother?" Svein asked innocently.

She laughed. "Wretch! I'll lie down and die when you grow pointed ears and become as smooth-tongued as an elf overnight!" Then she added something in dwarvish, possibly an explanation for Kol, who sniggered and elbowed his older brother. Arnkel shook his head, exasperated but unable to wipe a smile off his face.

Hord, however, maintained a solemn expression. "The day of my son's wedding shall be the death of my wife," he deadpanned. "For if he should woo some lass into marrying him, he shall have grown smooth-tongued indeed." Then he broke character and let out a booming laugh, and no one hesitated to join in.

The rest of the night went on with not much variation to that. Ilse's cooking was beyond excellent, and the light of food and fellowship kept the kegs running late. The sky outside was soon as dark as pitch, and Ayel heard Jeran's voice in his head. _I'm turning in. You should be too. _The dragon, as always, sounded young, but now there was something else – something more aged behind his words. He sounded like a father, or an older brother.

_Ach… I'm gonna be smashed in the morning. _The boy put down his tankard and flopped back in his seat. _Yeah, it's about time to hit the hay. _He stood up over the table shakily. "Well, I don't know about you all, but I'm off to bed. Thank you for the meal." At first, no one said anything, and when he looked closer, he saw that the only ones who weren't asleep at the table were Eragon, Ilse, and Opheila. "Um… should we move them?"

Ilse shooed him off with a hand, beginning to clear the table and smacking Opheila's wrist away when she tried to help. "I will clean this up. Both messes," she added, looking fondly at her snoring clan. "You will go. Sleep in late. Go! Now." She nearly hoisted Eragon out of his chair, pushing him toward the stairs none too gently.

"I will," the woefully beset Rider assured her. "The meal was wonderful. Your cooking has no equal."

"Rascal to make a married woman blush," said the stout little woman with not a speck of red on her cheeks. "I am glad you liked my food. Go off."

"Good night Opheila; Ayel," Eragon said on his way up the stairs.

Opheila pushed a tangled lock of hair out of her eyes. "Good night, ebrithil," she said, sounding completely out of energy. This proved accurate when she stood, stumbled, and tripped over a chair. Ayel caught her by the arm and helped her steady herself, but let go quickly when she had her footing. "Thanks. I get clumsy when I drink like this. And I'm so _tired_…" She wavered, and, thinking she might faint, Ayel hastily grabbed at her shoulders again.

"Careful. Need a hand?"

"Sorry… yeah."

"It's okay. I've got you." He let her put an arm around his shoulders and acted like a crutch, guiding her to the foot of the staircase. Her head lolled onto his shoulder, casting a wavy brown curtain in front of his face. "Hey, stay with me here." Looking at her, he noticed she seemed to be falling asleep. "C'mon, open those blue jays." Here he laughed a little to himself. "Blue Jay. That's good. Guess I beat you to the pet name thing."

"Mmm." She didn't move, then suddenly said, "I need to wake up."

"Just a few more steps." They reached the top of the stairs.

Ilse called from the dining hall below. "Tall, dark and handsome boy! The top stair is broken, so watch –" the floorboard jerked beneath him and he felt them both falling. Out of nowhere, Opheila's arm shot out and caught them before their faces hit the hardwood. "- out."

With more force than he would've expected from someone so out of it, Opheila levered them up, peeling her face off the floor. "Ow."

A voice came from downstairs again. "I heard a crash! Did you not listen?"

"We were a little early for the warning, but otherwise we're fine," Ayel called. "Thank you."

"Then go sleep and stop trying to injure yourselves on my furniture!"

"On our way," he promised. He turned to Opheila, who was steadier on her feet and had pulled ahead of him toward the guest rooms. "You moved pretty fast for someone so out of it."

She smirked over her shoulder, letting him catch up to her. "You think I was faking just to get you to hold me?" While he was disarmed, she reached up and ran her fingers through his thick hair. "You need a haircut."

Ayel's mouth stumble for a second, and he blurted out, "You're drunk."

"And you would know?"

"You're not this nice when you're sober."

Opheila's laugh was softer and warmer than usual, proving his point. "Go to bed." She pushed him into the middle of the hallway and opened her door.

"Fine, Blue Jay," he grinned evilly as she shut it.

Even through an inch and a half of solid wood, he could hear her reply. "I'll come up with yours soon enough."

Ayel shook his head resignedly and walked farther down the hall to his own room.

The door was heavier than it looked, and led into a cozy bedroom with a window on the far wall. An expansive shelf was under the window pane and had a mattress with several cushions on it. What looked like animal pelts were hung about the walls, and there was a stool by the door and an open threshold to a small washroom.

As he moved closer to the bed, a great _thing _pushed aside the shutters and curtains so suddenly that he jumped, and, in his slightly inebriated haze, flung himself into the stool and face-planted on the rug.

He rolled onto his back and had drawn Hljödhr halfway out of its sheath when he realized it was Jeran's giant amber head. He gently slid the sword back in its place and picked himself up off the floor, sitting on the mattress. _And scaring the living daylights out of me was necessary why?_

_I didn't mean to. _Despite his words being apologetic and defensive, Jeran just looked amused. His lips curled back and his eyes crinkled. _Do you want me to singe off some of your hair so your girlfriend likes it better?_

_Are you nuts? I said she's not – gah! Why do I even bother?_

_The question here is who do you think you're fooling? That girl just walked over you like a doormat and when you came in here you were smiling like you'd just been given the key to Illirea's treasury._

_Doormat? _

_I mean in conversation. You're always struggling for words or getting your banter turned back at you when you talk to her. It messes me up when you're all confused. _He snorted. _I have a life too, you know._

_I know._

_Why don't you ask me about it?_

_I know how your day went. We did most of the same stuff._

_Ask me how I feel. We're supposed to do that kind of thing, right?_

_Fine. How do you feel?_

_The other dragons are more or less like you and the other two-legs. Saphira acts like a really, really aggressive mother, and we all kind of do what she says, if she says anything. It's a little different, because besides her, Thera is like the leader, not me. _

_You don't sound too disappointed._

_Nah. Responsibility of command really isn't my thing. I like where I am, at the bottom with Ragnar. We can get our claws dirty and not have to think too much about anything we don't want to. _

_How about Ithros and Naroki? Where do they stand in the pack?_

_Ithros talks a lot less than everyone else, but he's a good hunter. He's just the same as me; he prefers to get the kills rather than order them. Naroki's just a catty little drama queen, but Thera and she kind of stick together because they're females. _He paused, as if considering. _It's not a bad group. Neither are you Riders. I think I like this pack. _

_Me too. If we'd been here from the start, maybe we'd know them a little better._

_Well, you're certainly eager to get familiar with Opheila._

_Stop that! _Ayel tapped him firmly on the snout. _I barely know her. Worse, I barely know myself._

_Say what you want. But did you notice Astrid was acting weird today?_

_I think so._

_Ragnar says she might not fit in very well with her family._

_I can see why. They're a lot more rambunctious than she likes to be. Beq's been looking messed up, too._

_He's hurt and he's making out like he's not. I smell the blood on him. Naroki is furious with him for it._

_Mh. And Vaas is just… Vaas._

_You made a good choice, I think, becoming friends with him in the beginning. It's always nice to have a half-ton Kull watching your back._

_Aye. _The human smiled briefly. _They're good friends. I don't mind fighting by them, and I trust them. _His eyes were starting to hurt. _Alright, you're going to keep me up. 'Night._

_Don't let anything eat you while you're asleep. _Jeran pulled his head out through the window.

Ayel immediately got up and closed the shutters. _He almost makes it sound like there's vermin in this house that actually _will_ try to eat me while I'm asleep, _he thought dryly. Yawning, he stretched and took off his sword belt, setting it and the rest of his gear on the floor next to the stool. Then he pulled his tunic over his head and collapsed onto the mattress, drawing the wool blankets around him.

Sooner than he expected, he passed into his waking dreams.

_Ayel's breaths came short and ragged, painful, wresting life from the air with desperate greed. He was running, running faster than he ever thought he had. The shouts were close behind him, and he could see the torchlight around the corner. They were taking their sweet time getting up the stairs, which was fine, but the stones reflected the orange ambience nonetheless – which meant they were close. _

_Pillars rose from the dark mist around him, he ducked between two, hit a dead end with two more and swung over the flat stone railing there, feet hitting soft grass. The shouts were still gaining on him. Occasionally he would hear the shadow birds, tittering and cawing with bloodlust in their voices, but they hadn't found him yet, or this wouldn't be a chase._

_It would be an execution._

_He turned fifteen tomorrow. Actually, tomorrow had become today half an hour ago, but it was still dark and stars only sparingly peeked out from the thick gray clouds. The moon was new, and nowhere to be seen. For this he was thankful. They were at home in the dark, but he knew every inch of this path. _

_He'd made excuses to use what parts of it he could during the workday, plotting, planning with Trevor to run, to find the raft they'd scraped together out of discarded timber and escape to the mainland._

_The problem was, there was a good chance Trevor was dead now. They'd caught him the moment he'd left his hut. Wrong place, wrong time. _

_His family couldn't hide and wait according to plan, and neither could Ayel's because his mother, Saraiya, was sick. Leiri and Adrianna had stayed to take care of her, but bid him go before they came are first light and killed him. So he couldn't fight back. So the others wouldn't fight back. And since he was the son of Cadmon, captain of the guard, they would make a spectacle of it._

_Well, their plan was foiled. Now he just had to foil their plan to foil his plan. _

_He and Trevor had been approached by a few of their childhood friends while talking, and included them in the plan to keep it quiet. There was Alsling, tall with auburn hair and a willowy build; Braedyn, her brother, shorter and stockier; Ketil, who everyone swore was Ayel's twin because of the black locks that they shared; and Raina, whose tan skin and deep brown hair caught the eyes of many, but ignored all of them in favor of Trevor._

_They were supposed to meet at the courtyard. Unfortunately, Ayel was nearing that same courtyard and he was worried that he might be able to lose his pursuers in time. He had no idea if the men had Ruined or even Ra'zac with them, since escapes were taken very seriously, and did not want to find out. _

_Cursing violently, he doubled his speed, legs fairly flying, and leaped onto a bench, then onto a stone plinth, and from there grabbed an awning and pulled his elbows onto the roof. He jumped to an adjacent building, shingles loosening and falling under his feet, breaking like so much pottery. _

_A balcony stopped the row of demolished houses short and looked over the courtyard. Springing onto its handrail, Ayel hesitated, and then pushed off, hitting the cobblestones with the balls of his feet and bending his knees into a roll, feeling a spike of pain through his shins up to his back. Nothing broke, so he ignored it._

_Looking around the courtyard as he crouched and then stood, four shadowy figures stepped out of an alleyway. He picked up a fist-sized chunk of rock but checked the motion, realizing they had to be his friends. They drew toward him, feet pattering like rain on the road. "Where's Trevor?" Raina, who must have been first in line, demanded in a whisper._

_Ayel got closer and put a hand on her arm. "Didn't make it. They got him, but he wants us to go." He didn't hear her response, as the shouts were louder by the minute._

_ "__We need to move," said Ketil suddenly. He looked solemn, but determined. "We can lose them in the jungle if we use the guard tunnels."_

_ "__I know where the closest one is," Ayel said, breaking off and taking point. "Follow me. Move fast and quiet." They flitted from one shadow to the next, looking for all the world like assassins or rogues rather than teenagers that, in the boys' case, didn't want to die, and in the girls', would prefer not to be enslaved and possibly defiled._

_The tunnels had been built long ago when the Fall had already begun. The Order of Stewards made them so that they could get from one part of the city to the other quickly and in large numbers. _

_This hadn't helped, though, when the Ruined had come swarming from the volcanos when the larger part of the garrison was on a wild goose chase in the jungle. Upon their return, the guard tunnels were used by the enemy to obliterate them, bringing the term rubbing salt in the wound a new conveniency._

_It was dark and cold inside the passageway, but they moved without fear or hindrance because of what they knew was behind them. They'd made it this far; there would definitely be Ra'zac on their tails by now. _

_He could hear his own heartbeat, and the others' breathing, because the cries of the sentries had passed into the distance for now. Braedyn was running alongside him, and then Raina, and Ketil was with Alsling flagging at the rear._

_Braedyn turned to look behind him at the stragglers. "Guys, pick up the pace! They'll be on us as soon as they figure out we used the-" His warning ended in a choked, rasping yell as he was lifted off the ground, a pale sword through his stomach. Alsling cried out in anguish and the four of them scrambled to avoid what they knew was no longer paying attention to Braedyn._

_Ayel ducked low, smashed into the wall, stumbled, and rolled away as something metal struck the side of the tunnel above his head. Sparks flew at him. He sprinted, forgoing all semblance of silent motion, because the enemy could see him in the dark anyway and was obviously faster than he could anticipate._

_Several dull impacts sounded behind him, coughs, exclamations, frantic footsteps on the stones. "Move!" He said forcefully. "We have to get out! Come on!" Someone who was panting hard drew level with him, and they continued to run. _

_The opening to the tunnel was nearby, he could see the starlight on the jungle leaves. As he reached the edge of the trees, he noticed he was alone again. He looked back into the tunnel._

_And then the screams began._


	14. Twelve: Shifting Sands

**Chapter Twelve with dialogue brushup and continuity edits. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Twelve: Shifting Sands**

**Ayel**

"Up! Get up!" Sharp knocking broke through the veil of sleep that still held Ayel in a begrudging embrace. "Lazy children sleep too late. Dragon Riders wake with the light of Helzvog's forge!" Ilse hit the door with her spoon a few more times, and moved on down the hall. The walls only slightly muffled the racket she deliberately caused, calling to the others and assaulting their own doors. Vaguely, Ayel felt the cold, and the feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar place. The furs on top of him and the woolen sheets were very warm, and seemed to pull him down with a tether of fatigue. If he stayed right where he was, he would not only be safe from the chill, but he could sleep for a few more minutes.

Footsteps thundered down the hall outside. A group descended the stairs, but the heaviest noises momentarily stopped. Something much bigger and more forceful than Astrid's mother's spoon rammed into the door. "Yargh! Ayel, get out of bed! There's food." Vaas's voice was rough, and layered with the hours of sleep he was shaking off.

"Gimmeaminute," Ayel said as loudly as he was capable at the moment. With an annoyed growl, his shieldmate resumed his trampling down the stairs.

The human forced his eyes open. Sunlight was cascading through the window behind him, casting a cheery cloak of bright yellow into the room. He pushed himself up with one hand and sat awkwardly, rubbing his eyes. "Cripes," he mumbled. It looked like dawn had scarcely broken. On top of that, he didn't feel at all rested.

Jeran's mind made contact with his in the regular ice-cold rush. _People are starting to stare at us. You'll want to go eat before everything's gone, because we're leaving before they ask questions. _The young dragon was not hungry or tired, which meant he'd already been awake for some hours.

_Did you even sleep?_

_Well. You?_

_Bloody horrible, thanks. Damned flashback again._

_Mnh. Don't like. Don't like at all. _He paused, growling in his throat. _Nothing we can do now, though, is there? Go and eat. It'll wake you up a notch._

_Fine. _Withdrawing from his partner's consciousness, Ayel stood up and stepped over to the stool where he'd dumped his pack. He pulled on white canvas pants, a linen undershirt, and then his mail armor and a sky-blue tunic. He was cold now, but wouldn't be later in the desert, so he denied himself stockings and eased into his stiff boots. Buckling his sword belt at the waist and under his arm, he swung Hljödhr onto his back and shoved the door open. The hall was relatively dark, but light was flickering downstairs. Dishes and what-have-you clinked together, and a few people were softly talking.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw that only Vaas, Astrid, and Ilse were in the dining hall. The Kull was entirely absorbed in his plate, but Astrid and her mother appeared to be discussing something of great importance to them both. It wasn't an argument, but it seemed to carry a lot of weight. That and they abruptly stopped when he reached the table. The older, rounder woman slid a heaping platter under his nose. "Eat, pillow head. Put some hair on your chest."

Wasting no time, Ayel began hauling food into his mouth. He barely registered what it even was; it didn't matter. It was hot, and it tasted good, and he was hungry. The Ulricsson women continued to bicker and move about him, and midway through the plate, Vaas slapped him on the back and left the table, but he wasn't aware of his surroundings until he accidentally tried to eat the plate. Luckily, he didn't have the energy to bite down hard enough to break any teeth, but he hastily jerked his head away so Ilse didn't see him trying to devour her cookware.

"Vrron, Astrid!" The plump little woman was red in the face, arguing with her daughter over the stove. She turned, obviously thinking she'd ended the conversation.

Astrid lunged forward, grasping the fabric of Ilse's kirtle plaintively. "Hwatum il skilfz gerdûmn!"

"Oeí, delva! Wer qan ahor?"

The younger took a nervous breath. "Qan etal skilf… oen yrel isû…"

Suddenly Ilse's stern expression melted and she grabbed her daughter's shoulders, forcing eye contact. "Eta! Narho ûdim eta los isû vond! Etzil nithgech, oen jok etal reln. Isil môghn, narho utar jordnr farthen. Knurlag ûdim vrostfar." Astrid nodded, but still looked very stressed. They continued to talk in lower voices, and Ayel understood little of the dwarvish that he could hear anyway.

He heard a creaking floorboard behind him and noticed that the front half of Ragnar's body was being shoved through the window. The brown dragon regarded him momentarily. _Stop staring. Also, you should leave us alone._

The human shrugged and quietly stood up, backing out the door under the hawklike scrutiny of the lethal predator with its face stuck in a window pane. Once he got through, he closed the door and looked into the square. Most of the dragons were landed and arranged around the well, with their respective Riders loading their saddlebags or just sitting. Eragon was looking at some kind of map, and Hord was beside him, pointing things out and explaining something. Astrid's brothers were nowhere to be seen.

The moment Ayel's feet touched the cobblestones, he felt something close around the back of his tunic and lift him off the ground. He was jostled and jerked as the assailant ran, pounding metal boots like thunderclaps. He fought and flailed, but whoever was holding him had an iron grip. "I got him! Everyone pile!" _Wait a second. That was Vaas._

Seconds later, he found himself dumped unceremoniously on the ground and without fanfare, had several things flung on top of him. A violent wrestling match ensued, and when the dust cleared, he was being held still from behind by Vaas and the Ulricsson boys, and they all were sprawling in the middle of the square. Looming over them all was Opheila.

She held a very sharp-looking knife.

"What… the…_ hell_?" Ayel wheezed, desperately trying to catch his breath. His captors laughed and shifted around, attempting to high-five without letting go of him.

The sun made it painful to look up at Opheila, but she had a wicked smile on her face. It suited her very well somehow. The trainees were all matching today, but the blue tunic brought out her eyes and looked far better on her than anyone else. "You know exactly what the hell. I told you." She reached out, got a fistful of his hair as he tried to flinch away, and brought up the knife. "You need a haircut."

"What?" Ayel's eyes widened. "No! Why! Let go!" He strained, but the combined strength of a Kull and three strapping dwarves made it very, very futile. "You have no idea what you're doing!"

"I have a perfect understanding of what I'm about to do," she said. "I'm cleaning you up so you stop – looking – so – scruffy!" On the last four words, she went for his bangs and he almost gave himself whiplash trying to get away from the blade. "Now hold still!"

"I will do nothing of the sort!" He grimaced as she stripped off a hank of his raven locks. "My hair is a statement of my power! I'm fifteen, my dad's dead, and my mom's a million leagues away. I can make my own decisions about my hair!"

Vaas was still laughing beneath him. "Not with her around."

Abruptly, Ayel turned his head, nearly causing Opheila to slit his throat. Her scolding was lost in his jabs at the Urgal. "And you! You traitor! You slimy, good-for-nothing, half-nagra, son of a snalglí!"

His friend just kept laughing. "You'll forgive me eventually. Besides, if you saw the look on your face –"

"My face that until recently was framed by my luxurious hair! Since when do you immobilize Opheila's victims, anyway?"

"Victims?" His hairdresser continued to make decisive cuts, while quizzically pursing her lips. "You will thank me after this. Trust me." She ran her fingers through what was left of his hair, trimming what they caught in between. "You know, you have extraordinarily soft hair."

Ayel convulsed and finally did what he should have done in the beginning. _"Jeran! Help! I'm being violated here!_"

His only reciprocation of the mental contact was a string of hiccupping chortles that pushed a sympathetic grin onto his face before he forced the feeling away.

_ "__Are you kidding me? Stop laughing your scaly ass off and get me out of here!"_

_Kind of too late now. Also, you do kind of look more respectable._

_ "__WHAT?"_

Finding no aid, Ayel turned back to his tormentors. "You don't understand… hair is a very sacred breach of social contract in my culture! You're not supposed to just let just anyone ravage your hair on every corner of the street!"

"Well, I'm not just anyone, am I?" Opheila ruffled his hair. It felt shorter. "There. Not too much shorter, but you don't look like a delinquent anymore."

"No, he looks like he just got shocked, the way it all sticks up like that."

"I've got it!" She snapped her fingers. "Sparky!"

"Blue Jay!" Ayel snarled.

"I told you." She stepped back. "Okay, let him up."

Ayel immediately shook free, standing as quickly as he could. He pushed Arnkel down as he rose behind him, and elbowed the other two in the ribs, but didn't even try to go after Vaas. Instead he felt his remaining hair with both hands, clutching his skull in panic. It was thicker on the top, where it spiked up like they'd said, but the sides were a lot thinner and shorter than normal, and he no longer had any hair hanging in front of his eyes. "No! I feel like I'm off to Varden Boot Camp! Why would you do this?"

"'Cause it's funny," said Vaas.

"'Cause you were asking for it," Opheila winked. "And you're adorable when you're angry."

"Me? Adorable? Ha! Joke's on you, because _you're_ the cute one between the two of –" he froze mid-sentence as he realized he'd actually complimented her. "Aaaaah! Neff! This!" Ayel kicked a rock as hard as he could, sending it skidding along the cobblestone street. He stormed off in no particular direction. Behind him, he heard Eragon call out to the others.

"Children? Children! Play nicely!"

"You're next, master!" The knife glinted in the sunlight. "I'm telling Arya first thing when we get there!"

Eragon paled. "Opheila, if Arya so much as looks at my hair the wrong way, I'm blaming you and putting you on latrine duty for the rest of the century!"

Whatever happened after that, Ayel couldn't hear, because he was leaping on top of Jeran, who was sunbathing some distance away from the scene of the crime. The dragon bucked. _Whoa! Do you mind?_

_Shut your fangs. Where were you when I was being desecrated?_

_I was right here. If you honestly had a problem with it, I would've helped. _He spread his wings and took them into the air, spiraling lazily.

_What communicated that I didn't have a problem with it, huh? I wasn't exactly having the time of my life being held down and shaved like a hunting dog!_

_Well, let me see, I'm _connected to your brain _so I think I can tell. Listen; no matter how much you don't like it, it'll be a lot better for your health if your hair doesn't trap as much heat, since we'll be flying directly under the desert sun. Also, you need to get used to having her make some decisions for you._

_Oh, YEAH? Well, I've got a few choice words for you…_

The rest of the conversation included a hardly necessary but still very impressive display of Ayel's vocabulary of offensive language. Once they'd circled the town several times, and their personal issues had been unsatisfyingly sorted out, Jeran happened to notice Eragon signaling them to drop, so he dove and skimmed the street, hovering rather than landing completely.

Saphira had made her way down from the roost late, and was still yawning as Eragon climbed into her saddle. "Riders and dragons, we're mounting up! Stay on my tail once we break west! We have to fly double-time!" He was thrown backward as Saphira took off, scoring gashes into the stones with her talons. Windswept as she screamed past them, Ayel and Jeran gained altitude to follow. Below, the others followed suit one by one, until Astrid ran out of the house, hugged her brothers and father, and dragged Ragnar over to get in the air. The people of Hedarth lifted their gazes skyward as they beheld a sight no city had in over a hundred years.

The flight was, for the most part, uneventful. It was the second time Ayel had really experienced the dragons moving in force, and the winds were deafening. Vocal communication, of course, was impossible, and no one saw fit to talk casually with their minds to anyone but their dragons. For a long time, it was quite peaceful, as they flew under the heavy heat of the blazing sky. It slowed Ayel's thinking and made him sleepy, but seemed to give Jeran more energy than before, and he was very happy to be in his ancestral home. Ayel guessed they were about a quarter of the total distance allotted to travel when he broke the silence.

_I think something's wrong with Astrid. _

_Oh, am I worthy of your speech now? Have I served my time as the traitorous, unholy spawn of a lard-gutted f-?_

_Will you pipe down for a second? I'm serious. She was talking to her mother earlier, and I don't speak Dwarvish, but she looked really messed up about it._

_Family matters. Might not be wise to get involved._

_Yeah, but still… we're her family, too. And I worry. She kind of reminds me of my sister._

_Your sister a dwarf?_

_Jeran, you know what I mean. Stop being such a smart aleck._

_Said the smart aleck._

_Okay, you got me there. Guess I'm just not in the mood._

Jeran paused. They flew on for a moment before he kept talking. _You're not still pissed about the hair thing, are you?_

_Oh, of COURSE not. It's been more than enough HOURS to get over it._

_ …_

_Just kidding. We're cool. The more I think about it, the less I mind. Anyway, I caught my reflection earlier and I actually look pretty awesome._

_AHA! You're caving! I knew you would. Opheila's pretty handy with that knife._

_Look, enough about it. All I'm saying is, I'm not as overheated as I could be because it's shorter. Can we leave the subject of my hair?_

_Fine. Look at that._

He meant, of course, the mountains on the horizon ahead of them. Though still far away, Du Fells Nángoröth were rising above the sands dramatically, centering the landscape like a giant sundial. They looked dark and muddy, as if the stone was itself made of packed sand, and were gnarled and twisted like explosions had torn chunks of them off once. Ayel had seen how dragon fire could shape stone, and thought it not too wild an explanation.

_They're magnificent._

_I wish we could stop there, but our route takes us too far south._

Occasionally Ayel's eyes would rest of the mountains out of nowhere during the next hour or so of flight. Something called to him from that place, but something else seemed off. He felt a strange mix of yearning and ill premonition, and it kept eating at him for a while.

Eventually, Jeran stopped forming cohesive sentences and his stamina flagged considerably. Eragon signaled them to land from ahead, and one after the other each dragon dove and thankfully flung themselves into the dunes, tongues lolling out, spread-eagled in their near exhaustion.

Ayel had time to climb of Jeran's back before he collapsed, so he was on his feet when the impacts of six dragon nap attacks shook the desert for what must have been miles. It was much later in the day and the heat seemed to hold off a little, but he was still very dehydrated and very hot. He uncapped his waterskin and took a hefty drought, spilling a little on his tunic. It felt good to have water seeping through the fabric and mail and cooling his skin, so he didn't mind.

Stretching his legs from the long ride, he noticed Beq was favoring his own left leg the slightest bit and his eyes narrowed. _So that's the wound he's hiding, then. Why in blazes doesn't he just heal it? Stubborn arsehole. _He spat and sifted through the sand with his foot. _Never mind him. Obviously prefers nobody do anything about it. _

Eragon walked into the middle of the circle the dragons created. Ayel at first thought he was about to say something, but his mentor just looked at the ground, frowning, then at the sky, and then put his ear to the sand.

"Something wrong?" Astrid called from her perch next to a slumbering Ragnar.

The Head Rider paced, nervously glancing in the direction of the mountains. "I have this feeling… you know, _that_ feeling." He looked over at Ayel. "Ayel, you feeling it?"

If Ayel was surprised at Eragon's deductive reasoning, he didn't show it. Remembering the nervous excitement he'd felt earlier, he nodded. "Yeah…?"

"I sense it, too. Wake 'em up." said Eragon.

Without asking why, the dark-haired youth nudged the mound of shining amber behind him.

_Wha- Why? I was having a glorious dream about this giant rump roast –_

_Rest with your eyes open, _Ayel chastised him. _Master's edgy. When he gets edgy, stuff starts going down._

Similar exchanges opened up on the mental plane, publicly, between the Riders and dragons around them. Soon everyone was awake and alert. Saphira, who had neglected to say much since she had been dragged out of sleep just before leaving Hedarth, seemed to finally shake it off. _Keep your minds open as well, hatchlings. Much has changed since our ancestors left this place._

They waited for a tense few minutes, but nothing jumped out at them, so the sense of impending doom wore off and the group began to relax, except Eragon. He continued to look between the sand and the sky, muttering to himself. Ayel couldn't tell if he was using magic or schizophrenically freaking out.

As the thought crossed his mind, that creeping sensation began to work its way back in, more tangible this time, and Jeran sat up and took notice as well – his eyes widened and the pupils diluted into slits. _Something huge is coming this way! _he yelled.

_Where? _Thera was twisting her head around madly, trying to locate the presence. _I can't pinpoint it!_

_Beneath us! Can you feel it? _Naroki tore at the sand with her claws in a frenzy.

Suddenly, Saphira roared. _Take off! Take off NOW!_

Ayel didn't even see it happen. He was caught in the act of half standing up when the dunes under his feet exploded. Countless grains of sand were flung into the air, clouding his vision and tripping him up as he lost his balance. It was flying outward, which meant something in the center was rising out of the sand with dangerous speed. Whatever it was, it was so enormous that its center mass was between them all, and directly under Eragon, but it kicked up and disbalanced the sand for a good enough distance away to hem them all in. The dirt was still swirling, but it was a muddy tan with ridges and something spindly reaching up, up, up…

Behind him, Jeran roared. The sound and mental backlash radiated pure panic. Ayel tumbled, shielding his face, and saw his dragon being pulled under the sand. He tried to yell out for him, and got a mouthful of the Hadarac. Before he could even think, he was yanked by the fast-forming whirlpool and sucked downward at speed. He forced his mouth and eyes shut, still feeling his nostrils and ears burned by the sand. He couldn't breathe for what felt like several minutes, but suddenly the suction was gone and he was jackknifing through the air, plummeting through empty space.

It was still dark, and very cold, so he knew he was underground. He coughed, sneezed, sending beige plumes up around him that hung in the air above as he fell. Once his major airways were clear, he realized he was going to die if he fell this far without something slowing his momentum. "Vëoht!" he shouted into the rushing wind. After a short delay, he felt an onset of nausea as his body's internal movement speed reduced slightly faster than the external. If he hit the ground, the impact did no damage; it was the sudden stop that would kill him. Therefore, the spell stopped his body from moving before it stopped his inertia.

Unfortunately, he'd only had enough time to slow to a merely survivable speed before he hit something. The something moved down quickly with him, cushioning his fall. It was then that he realized he had landed on Opheila. Who had landed on Astrid, who had landed on Beq, who had landed on Eragon, who had landed slightly to the right of Vaas.

"Sorry," he said, rolling off the pile of Riders.

"No problem," someone mumbled.

Eragon was the first to stand up. "Well, this is a predicament."

Picking himself up, Ayel heard Astrid groan. "Where are we?"

"I think she hit her head," Beq said, much louder than he usually spoke. He was supporting her with an arm, but the dwarf girl still staggered and clutched her head with one hand.

"Let me see!" Pushing past the others, Eragon went straight to the worst injury on site, leaving them to sort out the landing zone.

"We're obviously underneath the surface," said Opheila, brushing her hair out of her eyes. A few rebellious strands stayed in front of her face. "With a cavern this large, we've got to be really far down… miles, probably."

She did not overstate the size of the cavern. It was vast and gaping into the darkness that swallowed the sides and the roof. In some spots, trickling streams of sand seemed to be falling to the floor, which was, like the walls, formed of a dark tan or brown stone. It acted more like compressed sand than rock, being soft and easy to chip away. At the closest wall, a few holes suggested tunnels leading away, but they were much taller and wider than even Vaas.

"Barrow. We're in a barrow. There's something down here with us, too." The Kull had his greatsword drawn before he was even on his feet. "I hate being underground."

Ayel half-smiled. "At least I won't have too much trouble with close quarters here. This place is gigantic."

"On the downside, I'm going to be washing the sand out of my clothes for weeks." The brunette inspected her once-spotless tunic. All of their garments were speckled with individual grains and smeared with wetter sand. "Delightful."

From their left, Eragon and Beq helped Astrid to her feet. "You should be good. How do you feel?"

"Okay," she said shakily. "Everything's stopped spinning, but I'm still a little woozy."

"Think we can walk around a while? I want to find out where the dragons went." He addressed all of them.

"I should be okay." No one else said anything approaching objection.

"Good." Now he pivoted to gaze down the tunnels. There were three. "Obviously these caves aren't uninhabited, and whatever lives here has attacked the dragons. I can sense Saphira, but it's faint, likely due to distance. They're going to be in the same place, and definitely in danger, judging by the immense creature that trapped us here." He paused in thought. "I recommend we split up into teams, search each tunnel, and keep in contact with our minds when necessary. If we end up way far apart, we can backtrack and find each other with magic. My guess is eventually, the tunnels intersect into another cavern like this one, where the dragons might be. We find them, kill whatever is trying to kill us, and get out of this hole." He wheeled back around to look at them. "Plan?" General shrugging and nodding greeted his question. "Marvelous. Ayel, Beq, take Astrid through the left tunnel. Opheila and Vaas, the right. I'll handle the middle on my own." He drew his sword. "Let's do it."

"Watch your back, Blue Jay," Ayel said, poking Opheila's shoulder.

"Back at you, Sparky," she said, and raced into the tunnel.

Vaas came after her, clapped Ayel on the shoulder, and then went in.

Eragon slowly walked into his own tunnel until he was swallowed by darkness.

Astrid and Beq went ahead into the left one. Ayel was the last one, staring into the shadows. Last time he'd been in a tunnel… well, everyone had died.

He couldn't really blame himself for being a little hesitant, could he?

A primal, savage noise tore through the cavern. It was high-pitched, but with a low undertone, like a Fanghur shrieking in tune with a hunting horn. The strange call echoed from one of the tunnels. He couldn't tell which.

Cursing, he pulled Hljödhr from its sheath and ran straight toward the inky blackness.


	15. Thirteen: Prey Alone

**Hey guys! I was hoping to get this in while it was still October, but a lot of stuff was in my way. I also found it very, very difficult to change point of view after going straight up Ayel for so long. Opheila is also a bit of a hard narrative for me for some reason, but I still enjoyed writing as her and will probably do so again in the future! This chapter's a bit short but a lot happens in it because it's very fast paced after the initial introspective. I apologize for any spelling errors, and I'll try to edit them as soon as I can, but it's very late at night right now, so I'm going to bed. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Thirteen: Prey Alone**

**Opheila**

One could call it a woman's intuition, or one could call it paranoia, but Opheila _knew_ she was being watched. It was just one of those things that came to mind without doubt or deliberation.

Inside the tunnel, darkness was total and absolute. She had cast a werelight so she and Vaas wouldn't run into a wall – or worse, fall off a subterranean cliff – but its muted red glow was just barely enough, and no matter how much she reworded her enchantment, she couldn't make it brighter. It was almost as if the shadows were not simply shadows, but coupled with a fine mist that thickened when the light tried to penetrate it. On a hand more fueled by her imagination, the darkness was intelligent and deliberately hemming her in.

Fear of the dark is explained by mankind having an inherent fear of what is unknown; what is different than they expect. Arguably, this is what sets humans above wild animals: the ability to imagine what will be waiting for them in the dark. Animals are creatures of nature; they can only anticipate what they know to exist, and it is far more instinctive. Humans let their cognitive tendencies run amok when they are left with nothing but black.

Mankind is afraid of the unknown. Opheila was afraid of _the dark_.

Because she couldn't _see_. And there are endless possibilities when you can't see. If you are under threat, chances are what threatens you can see better in the dark than you. Which means you won't have a chance to react until it already has you where it wants you. You won't even be able to _think_.

Opheila liked being able to think. It kept her sane. However, she also knew that thinking into a dead end (such as thinking about being in the dark while in the dark) could drive you insane with just a little push. Therefore, she stopped thinking about it… but the back of her mind, it was still there. Even that much made her antsy.

Vaas seemed not much more at ease in the tunnels. Urgals had night vision somewhere between humans and cats, but his slow movement and blank gaze testified that he couldn't see any better than Opheila. He was definitely expecting to be attacked – he kept his sword in hand, his stance wide, and his shoulders squared. Against his will, he was bringing up the rear, because despite the obvious benefits of a Kull handling first contact with an enemy, it would be far easier for him to cover Opheila from behind than vice versa, since he could actually swing his weapon without hitting her when she was directly in front of him.

As a rule, Opheila stuck to the left side of the tunnel, with her hand on the wall, which was a basic principle of adventuring when inside a maze. Tracing the perimeter made them less likely to get lost or take a wrong turn, though this worked better when you could actually see. And think.

The wall was grainy, coarse and rough beneath her skin. It was oddly damp and neither hot nor cold. She walked slowly, with careful steps, testing the ground in front of her with her toes. If they ran afoul of quicksand down here, they wouldn't stand a chance unless she was the one who found it. Vaas might not even sink; just _plop!_ straight down. _What a morbid thought. And a guilt-worthy insult to his weight._

It had been a long time since they'd entered the passageway from the main cavern – perhaps close to an hour. Nothing drastic had happened yet, but the feeling of eyes lingered in Opheila's mind. Far away, she could sense Thera, but it hadn't gotten much stronger after all this time. What _had_ gotten stronger was the sensation of being stalked.

Sensing a fork in the tunnel up ahead, Opheila stopped. As if he was on the same page, Vaas didn't plow into her (as he had earlier) but instead took a knee and spoke in a whisper that still managed to echo off the far walls. "We are being tracked."

"I know," she answered. "I don't know why it hasn't made a move yet."

The Urgal made a guttural, feral noise in his throat. "Some predators wait until their prey is aware of their presence to strike. The nasty ones, that feed on fear as well as flesh."

"And thank you for that lovey thought." Opheila crossed her arms, resting her chin on one fist. "Do you want to go left or right?"

"Let me sniff them out," he replied after a pause. She heard his mismatched hauberk clink as he stood, and then his plodding footsteps as he skirted around her and moved a few feet ahead, so that he was almost out of the reach of the werelight. Looking left, he drew in two long breaths from his nostrils, and then exhaled with a distasteful growl. In the moment that he looked to the right, something moved out of the corner of Opheila's eye.

She knew it was impossible to see anything outside the light, but she still glanced over her shoulder, and frowned as the blackness became mottled and a smudge gradually drifted toward her. Suddenly, she felt a rushing from behind her and the hairs on the back of her neck stood bolt upright. Manin was nowhere near fast enough coming out of her sheath, so midway through drawing the shortsword, she cried out. "_Vaas!_"

Vaas turned around so fast that he didn't even have to move his sword arm. Vindkverst sliced through something above Opheila's head and she rolled to the side as a pattering of dark blood fell like rain, and then something that was with no question in the Kull's weight class hit the ground after it. It thrashed silently, the red light thrown onto its writhing form as scythe-like limbs tore into the air. Blindly, Opheila reached out and thrust her blade at the first thing close enough to reach. When the creature stopped moving, she realized that she had impaled its head.

It looked similar to the glimpse she'd gotten of the leviathan that pulled them all underground: gnarled armor plates, packed thorax-like torso, and thin, sinewy appendages. It had a triangular, crested head with beady eyes set far back into its face, and several rows of needlelike teeth. "It must have been in midair when you hit it," she said, pulling Manin out of its skull with a truly disgusting noise. "We're really very lucky we killed it. See the bumps? That armor is solid bone, but it looks like it's ablative. Even with Brightsteel, this thing would shake off anything but a strike like yours."

Vaas kicked the body. "It looks like a bug. And it's already starting to stink. Do you think there are more?"

"Doubtless." Opheila shook the blood and gray matter from the silver blade of her sword. "Right?"

His response was a nod, so they crossed the tunnel and continued at an angle when she found the opposite wall. This shaft led ever so slightly downwards, and was warmer than before. A few uneventful minutes passed, but Opheila's pulse was still racing and she never went too far without checking their surroundings for any hint of movement. The mist refracted light and played tricks on her mind more times than she could count, but it paid better to be alert than to be dead.

When they were deeper into the new tunnel, Vaas's footfalls abruptly stopped behind her. She followed suit and looked back. "What is it?"

He growled. "Another one of those beasts. I can smell it."

They waited, standing close together, tensed for an incoming blow. Imagining the creature leaping from the shadows high above her, Opheila's gaze flicked upwards for a split second.

And left her completely unprepared for the real one that erupted from the rock at her feet.

An unearthly sound ripped from the between its fangs as it shot up at her, hacking with its serrated legs. She backpedaled, felt the wind as Vaas swung over her head, but their assailant was too agile and leaped out of the way with frightening power. It sprang out of sight and a split second later slammed into Vaas, driving him into the ground with savage force. Surprisingly, rather than finishing him off, it wheeled around, locked eyes with Opheila, and screamed again, scuttling toward her faster than she had thought possible.

She jumped out of its path, and it skidded on the sandstone, but clawed at her, and she could only duck away so many times before her back hit the wall. Throwing up Manin, she deflected one stab, but the impact sent a prickling shock up her arm and almost made her drop the sword as the pain reverberated through her hand. The next one plunged into the wall next to her face, brushing her cheek with a misplaced gentle breeze. She gritted her teeth and slashed the leg before it could try to hit her again, and left a deep cut in its corded skin. Sensing that it was in pain, she rushed forward, throwing her weapon in front of her, and landed a lucky strike to what she thought was its neck. It convulsed and knocked her to the ground, falling on top of her, but she could still move freely enough to keep chopping, again and again, until with a yell she cut cleanly through its throat and its head fell to the floor.

Panting, she sat under the decapitated corpse of the predator, watching the dark. "Istalrí," she whispered, and a new werelight flared to life above her. It shone on the small circle of disturbed sand where the melee had taken place. "Vaas? Vaas, can you hear me?" No answer came. The Kull was obviously not dead, but must have been unconscious. Waiting until he woke up so he could free her from under the giant dead monster was not an idea she fancied, but it looked like it was what she'd be doing for a while.

That is, until something skittered toward her, climbing up the carcass and staring her straight in the face. It made a low, crooning noise, and a misshapen, forked tongue flicked between its teeth. Opheila inhaled sharply, willing her hand to move, but the second she flicked her wrist, the creature pressed down on the body of its kin and pushed the breath out of her lungs. She was still gasping for air when it opened its mouth, leaning down for the kill.

It seemed too dead to be surprised when an amber rod sprouted from the back of its throat and jutted out past its jaws. Hljödhr's blade slid out the way it had entered and something pulled the head back with it, flinging the creature off its feet. It rolled and lay bleeding on the rocks.

"You okay, Blue Jay?" Ayel asked, concerned. He stepped over and knelt next to where she lay trapped underneath the dead animal. In the red light, he was half in shadow, but it was clear he was succumbing to exhaustion. His breathing was very heavy, and his shoulders slumped from fatigue. He put his palms on the ground to steady himself, but his arms shook a little and he gave up, falling on his side. Sweat clung to his skin, his crazy hair was matted, and his tunic was stuck to his frame, the contours of the mail clear beneath the fabric. Despite his clear overexertion, when he looked over at her, he still managed his trademark half-smirk. The one that was simultaneously cute and infuriating.

Opheila found her breath. "Took you long enough," she said.

"Oh, is that all the thanks I get?" Ayel laughed. "Classic."

Struggling, she reached over and threw a pebble at him. It bounced off his nose. "I'll thank you when you lift this thing off me. I don't think you realize how incredibly revolting this is."

"Are you kidding? Look at my shirt." He tugged at it and held out a swatch toward her. It was caked in dry black blood. "I am drenched in the revolting. I am one with the revolting." Relaxing again, he shrugged. "And, even if I wasn't completely out of energy, I couldn't lift that. I mean magic, too, so don't you start on that."

"Good idea, but it'd probably take too much anyway. No, what you can do is wake up Vaas. We'll make him pick it up."

Ayel grinned. "I _knew_ he wasn't dead. Give me a second and I'll go over and tickle him." Staring at the ceiling, he remained prone for a moment longer and then picked himself up, treating his joints tenderly as if they were sore. A short wait followed, and then Vaas roared. Very. Loudly.

"What the – AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! NOT THE ARMPITS! YOU LITTLE DEVIL!"

"Calm down, calm down! I was just waking you up!"

"…the hell are you doing here, you sneaky bastard? Tickling an innocent Urgal while he's asleep – you're lucky I recognized you before I ate you!"

"No, _she's_ lucky I got here before _they_ ate _her_."

Vaas shut up.

"Yup. Now, if you would be so kind, relieve the lady of her imprisonment beneath yonder rotting corpse."

After another second, the weight bearing down on Opheila was lifted and she could breathe normally again. She crawled to her feet, hissing at a cramp in her leg. Once it straightened out, she saw the human boy and the Urgal bull sitting a few feet away.

"So, how many kills have you got today, psycho?"

"Judging by your tunic, not as many as you," Vaas grunted. "Where are Astrid and Beq?"

Ayel's face darkened. "We were separated. I was trying to find them when those things first started attacking me. I had to deal with three of them – luckily, they all came at me alone, and one of them I actually caught by surprise, instead of the other way around. It was hibernating, or something, and I just stabbed it, when another one came up from behind me and…" He cut through the air with his hand, making a sharp noise with his mouth. "It nailed me in the back, but I killed it; I don't know how, but I ended up breaking its spine. I was taking off my armor to bandage the cut when the third one climbed down the wall and jumped on me. It almost had me, too, but we were rolling and suddenly, it was just gone. I had to cast a light before I realized I was lying on the edge of a ravine." He smiled a little. "It sounds a lot less impressive when I actually say how it played out."

"Um, no, actually, it doesn't." Vaas chuckled. "I don't know where you came from, and you don't know where you came from, but wherever it is, they know how to teach their cubs."

Opheila sat down between them. "They come at you so _fast_… that was a real stroke of luck, finding one of them asleep. Then again, for you, it's a stroke of luck to open a door without knocking yourself out."

"Ha, ha," Ayel said. "Did you run into any more trouble than just these two?"

"The first one tried to get the drop on us, but we killed it fairly easily," offered the Kull. "Then once we made it here, one of them came out of the ground and got me. That must have bene the one that was on top of Opheila when you took out the last one."

"Both of them almost killed me," Opheila added. "Most likely because I don't have the reach that you boys do. I was against the wall when I cut its head off, and then it fell on me and the next one just strolled right up." She cracked her knuckles. "These creatures can manipulate the tunnels, appear from anywhere, see better than we can, and move incredibly fast. I don't like those odds for Beq and Astrid."

Ayel nodded. "Leg injury. Head injury. They're already in bad enough shape. We should try to find them."

"Alright. We head up the tunnel that Ayel came through, and try to backtrack or use our minds to find them out. Plan?"

"Plan."

Before they could so much as stand up, a piercing scream rang out, echoing through the caves. For a moment, Opheila jumped – it sounded like Astrid was right next to her.

"Tunnel to our backs! Go!" Ayel rolled to his feet and picked up his sword. Opheila did the same, but they both were swept into the air by giant, meaty fists.

Vaas threw them onto his massive shoulders. "Let's not waste time. I'll run you there." He lowered his head and bellowed, a primal, fierce outcry of pure bloodlust, and charged into the inky mouth of the tunnel ahead.


	16. Fourteen: In One Place

**Chapter Fourteen with dialogue brushup and continuity edits. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Fourteen: In One Place**

**Eragon**

The son of Brom left a trail of bodies in his wake.

After entering the tunnel, Eragon found that he could no longer sense his students. Where had been bright, omnipresent lights there was now a void, a chasm. He felt nothing, except something ancient and decadent, a sinister taint to the air that was evident even in the dampness of the walls and the absence of wind in the caves. It was unlike the hungry, insistent background noise of the Ruined – this was more natural, more bestial, and seemed to carry the assurance of power with it. Needless to say, the archaic presence loomed oppressively over the mental plane, drawing his thoughts always to the darkness and the honeycombed satellite caverns in the walls. Somewhere, beyond it all, he could still sense Saphira… and his mind had jolted onto a single track; to find her and keep her from harm. For he _knew_ she was in danger. It _ate_ at him, that he knew where he needed to be and somehow couldn't get there. All he could think of was what was happening on the other side of the lonely dark.

It wasn't that he was unaccompanied on his journey. His companions were, of course, the aforementioned bodies. These had approached and attacked him from the moment he crossed the threshold, causing a cave-in that sealed him into the passageway. Though he could use magic to free himself, he preferred continuing toward Saphira to taking the risk of compromising the structural integrity of the tunnel. His concern for Astrid and Beq, the two injured initiates, and the others as well, was in the back of his mind, tugging like a ripcord on his sanity. If he just made it to Saphira, one way or another he would find them too.

Luckily, he was already sure he was going the right way. That was because it was full of the smaller beasts, the juveniles, he supposed. The only logical conclusion was that the creatures were predators of dragons. They lived in the ancestral home of the dragons, rendered them defenseless as they hunted them, and their lair was impenetrable to beings of magic. It was too perfect to be either chanced or artificial; only nature could adapt this way. The concept disturbed Eragon. Before, he'd thought – _everyone_ had thought – that dragons were at the top of the food chain. Learning that something could so utterly overcome them as to devour them for sustenance was more than a little unsettling. His confidence in Saphira, however, wasn't so easily blunted. She'd been in some close scrapes before, and so had he. Their problems usually solved themselves if they found each other. _So that's exactly what I'm going to do,_ he thought determinedly, as he ran Brisingr through another enemy, dead before he finished his flurry of slashes. He knew he was going down, and knew he was getting close. There were more of them, more of the sand demons, which seemed an appropriate name. He wondered if they had one in the ancient language. Unfortunately, he had no time to stop and check, because there were too many of them to pause and think overlong.

The spawn of the monolithic sand demon they'd encountered on the surface were smaller, but somehow more vicious. They seemed to tag in and tag out of the fight, leaping to and from the shadows between blows. Where he slew one, another materialized to snap at his sword hand as the strike fell. Slipping into the haze of steady combat, Eragon forgot the building fatigue in his limbs and the staleness of the air in the tunnel and fought with practical brutality, chaining his kills together with acrobatic moves as efficiently as possible. So far, his wards and his reflexes had allowed him to avoid being hurt, but as he tired he was aware of relying more on the magical shields and didn't think it would be long until they ran out. Forcing himself to move, he slid under a falling claw and rolled to his feet, springing backward to evade gnashing teeth and beheading a sand demon almost carelessly with a simple sweep of his blade. He whirled and grappled, slicing and stabbing, until a circle of corpses was all that remained of his latest visitors.

Then, as part of what had become an almost familiar pattern, he moved on, watching out of the corners of his eyes for traces of movement in the mist. Brisingr was a violent mauve in the glow of his red werelight, which was the most recent in a long line that marked his progress. He could still see far back down the trail since the tunnel had been mostly straight, and his sharp elven eyesight could make out distinctive, dead sand demons lying under the farthermost beacon. The blade of the sword was streaked with black blood, as was his entire hand and the bracer on his wrist, and his sleeve up to the elbow. His tunic was likely ruined after today; he had a feeling this blood would wash off but not wash out, unless drawn out with magic like poison from a wound.

Something buzzed in his ears. A noise. Not inside the cavern, or indeed near him, but somewhere without… almost urgent. It was soft and muffled, but sounded like people talking. Someone yelling. A hunch forming in the intuitive part of his mind, the Rider ambled closer, still keeping an eye on the lit area behind him. The noise continued, but softer, less audible. He reached the wall. It was on the other side. The thought that it could be one of the five blossomed so quickly, he almost didn't hear the piercing scream emanating from the opposite wall of his tunnel. _Astrid. _This time there was no mistake. He raced to the wall, covering a good twenty meters, and without deliberation raised his free hand. "Thrysta deloi!" He commanded. The sheer stone exploded outward, kicking up dust and gravel and a prodigious amount of sand demon cadavers that happened to be lying nearby as rigor mortis was setting in.

Wasting no time, Eragon rolled through the breach and immediately careened into another – a live one this time. He was far too close to raise Brisingr, so he reached out and grabbed it around the throat. His thumb couldn't meet his fingertips. Two glistening eyes bulged at him, and he saw rows and rows of the impossibly sharp teeth, yawning to take a giant bite of his skull. Before he could think, he squeezed and the eyes bulged larger, unnaturally so, and the widening maw paused as if frozen. The human took advantage of his adversary's hesitation and locked his whole arm around its throat. It seemed to get some of its fight back and began to thrash, but Eragon's hold was firm. Gradually, as he increased pressure, the kicking stopped. Just before the strangled it, he gave a final jerk and, with herculean effort, broke its spine. _No doubt Roran would have done a finer job of the wrestling bit, but you can't beat good old elven princeling strength in a situation like this one. _He automatically waited for Saphira's response, then cursed himself when he remembered she was beyond his reach.

Astrid, however, was within his reach, and he was able to find her without looking because he could sense her now. He could sense Beq, too, but the Surdan's mind was faint and not quite conscious. As he turned, he saw the dwarf girl on the ground, her hands thrown up at the explosion. She had lain across the prone form of her comrade, shielding him with her body. As she lowered her hands, he saw her skin was caked in dust and debris stuck to her kirtle, Red, human blood was soaking through the hem of her skirt. She tilted her head, squinted, unable to see. "E-Eragon?"

Eragon closed the distance, knelt, and took her hands in his own, lowering them so he could check on her head. "Still dizzy?" he asked gently.

She nodded, and then grimaced at the apparent pain. "I can barely see you…" He began murmuring a spell as she spoke, to try and clear her vision and her thoughts. "Ayel was walking in front of us, and then suddenly he was gone. We thought he fell somewhere, but we went back and couldn't find him. Beq tried to carry me alone, but his leg gave out and he's bleeding all over the place. I can't heal him, I tried. I can't even concentrate right now." Her voice broke.

"Just relax and lie with your head on the ground," Eragon told her firmly. "I'll tend to Beq. Don't worry about him. The sand demon's gone, too, so rest a minute." She was silent after that, and it gave him a chance to move her away from Beq. The young man was out cold, but seemed a lot less locked up than when he was awake. His body language was looser and so much more relaxed that he was almost unrecognizable. Eragon slit his trousers with a hunting knife and examined the wound. He swore. On the outside of Beq's calf was a long, jagged gash, shallow but wide. It looked like Naroki may have tried to cauterize it with her fire, and some clumsy stitches were holding it together, but it still burned red and angry on his mud-brown skin.

Thinking quickly, Eragon devised a spell to remove the stitches, heal the burns, and close the gap in the muscle, sinew, and skin. He cast it, felt an acute but not dangerous decrease in his strength, and sat back to watch for more sand demons as Beq healed and Astrid slept.

Slowly, but surely, a rushing sound grew in his ears. They twitched; he turned to watch a patch of irregular darkness to his front and left. The noise intensified, and he realized it was the war cry of a very large, very loud, and very angry Kull.

He grinned despite himself.

In a few moments, Vaas came barreling into the tunnel. Ayel and Opheila appeared to be slung over his shoulders like so many sacks of barley. They were in a state of more than a little distress, but seemed to be in good shape, although the former's current alertness and energy was clearly a façade; he was tired out and Eragon wondered if anyone else noticed. Opheila would have said something, which would make Ayel stop, which he hadn't, so she apparently had yet to suss him out. She was likely too soon, though, because she looked none the worse for wear and had stamina to spare, judging by her efforts to remain upright. The Urgal himself, as to be expected, still displayed a large amount of gusto, but was a little beaten up around the head and shoulders. The three continued to gain ground until Vaas noticed Eragon, wavered, tripped on a rock, and sent them all sprawling. The resulting cataclysmic crash was outdone only by the truly magnificent display of vulgarity by the two humans. Opheila's vocabulary was much more impressive than Ayel's, however, possibly due to her upbringing by sailors and mercenaries, and she swore many times more violently. The teenager in him appreciated the artwork in it, but the teacher in him noted that he would have to clean up his Riders' language.

"Dragon shit on a werecat cracker!"

"Son of a turd-farting, ass-trough, bottom-feeding bilge rat!"

"Nicely done."

"Thank you."

"Whose momma you callin' a bilge rat?" Vaas entered the conversation.

"This rock I just found… with my face."

"Oh. Reasonable."

They finished this lighthearted banter while picking themselves up, and stumbled over to where Eragon sat. Ayel had taken more effort than normal to get up, and was still out of breath as he fell beside Astrid. "Came as… fast as we could…" he coughed. "Sorry I… got separated. Fell down a very well-placed hole." He half crawled over to Astrid. "You okay? What happened?"

She tried to sit up, failed, and just pointed to the corpse of the sand demon Eragon had slain. "That…"

"And this," said Eragon grimly, regarding Beq's leg. It had healed, but that, of course, wasn't the problem. "Wish I'd been thinking straight enough to get ahold of it before we split up, but all I was thinking about was Saphira." He looked up guiltily. "Used to it being just me and her, I guess. I have to get better at watching out for you all."

Opheila shrugged. "Well, we can take care of oursel –"

"Yeah, I'm gonna stop that sentence where it starts," said Ayel. "Because that is ten pounds of bullcrap in a five-pound bag. Especially for baldy over there," he said a little more sharply, glaring at Beq.

"Okay, not going to argue with that one," she muttered.

At this time, the dark-skinned boy was in the process of regaining consciousness. He twitched, and then bolted upright. "Astrid?"

"Here," she said quickly, reaching out. "I'm fine. Eragon –"

"Saved your sorry arse," Ayel said helpfully, managing to interrupt two different people in the same conversation.

"What I _did _was I cleaned up _your_ mess." Eragon shot the younger man a look, and then returned his attention to Beq. "You have some explaining to do – he is right about that."

Beq blinked. His face was almost entirely without emotion. He stood up and put his back to the wall, crossing his arms. "Don't understand."

Inside, Eragon was annoyed, but not just at his student. _I wish we didn't have to do this right now, but we can't go into a fight without making sure we're all on the same page. If Ayel and Beq, in particular, are at odds and it hasn't gotten out or been defused, it'll set the whole group on edge. _He sighed, and stood to level with him. "I'm saying this once, and that goes for all of you. If you are injured, either you heal it; or you come to me. You do _not_ hide it, treat it without magic, or in any way allow it to compromise one of the others."

After a long, weighted moment, Beq asked, "Why'd you heal my leg?"

Eragon was thrown. "There is no 'why'. When I see an injury, I heal it. Something you should look into, and maybe next time when I'm not a wall away to save you, you'll avoid leaving Astrid to whatever's bearing down on you."

Choosing his words carefully, Beq said, "I didn't mean for her to be in danger."

"Then why didn't you heal your goddam leg!" Ayel broke in, much louder than necessary.

Surprisingly, Beq matched his volume. "I thought you were watching our backs, not crawling around like a little rat!"

"Ayel!" barked Eragon, sensing the source of the anger in this situation. But Ayel was already gone; he'd closed with Beq, and their body language was becoming increasingly violent. _Damn it. I can't believe _I_ used to be this moody – _and they were still yelling!

Ayel jabbed a finger into the air. "You know, I think you forget what you are sometimes. Whatever battle you're fighting, it's bigger than you now! _We're not kids anymore!_ You want to leave your calf split open? Do it on your own time - all it'll do now is get someone killed!"

"You're saying I don't think about other people?" Beq roared. "I spent my life serving other people! You don't know anything about me! Let me tell you – when I get a scar, I keep it! Scars make you stronger. _Pain_ makes you stronger. You want to save people? Come over here and I'll cut you! You might be strong enough not to fall down a hole once you scar something more than that little pinprick on your face!"

For a second, it looked like Ayel was going to throw a punch. Eragon prepared himself for the inevitable – i.e., a whirlwind of violence, carried out by _him_ in order to keep the two apart – but then he dropped his hand and actually laughed.

"You think I don't have enough scars?" he said. "You idiot! I was a slave too, you know." He turned around, showing Beq the rent in his tunic and the mail coat beneath. Eragon couldn't see them from where he was standing, but he knew Ayel's wounds from the deadly obsidian whip were in plain view. "Call _those_ pinpricks if you can."

Wordlessly, Beq ripped off his vest and the werelight shone on his own back. A crisscross of messy, ugly whip-wheals streaked down from his shoulders to his hips, making it seem as if, by trick of the light, someone had laid wet straw on his skin. "There's a difference between a labor camp and a death camp, kid," he growled. "You want pain? Wait until they _don't_ need you alive."

Sensing that the conflict was lulling for a moment, Eragon thrust himself between them. "Lock it down! Both of you. I've had enough of you two going at it to last a week. It's like you've been doing this the entire journey! I don't know what's going on between all of you, but in case you haven't noticed, our dragons are in danger. I think they matter more than this." He turned to each of them. "Beq, just follow my orders. If you want to keep to your own practices, I'm not stopping you until you disobey me. And pain? There's a line one can cross, as we have just learned, that can make you weaker.

"Ayel, it's all very noble to speak of self-control and putting others before oneself, but it'd be better if you did that while not screaming at the top of your lungs in the middle of a crisis. You need to stop teaching, too. Let me do my job. Yours should be working together in a way that won't lead to this kind of stupid fight.

"Now, I'm splitting you two up, because I'm not completely insane. Beq, take the rear. Ayel, you have point. Don't make me regret not telling you both to sit this one out."

He cast them both a deathly stare, and walked back to help Astrid up. "Think you can move with us?" he said, considerably more nicely than he'd spoken recently.

"I think so… it's clearing up now, mostly. If we have to fight, though, I don't know." She took his hand and stood, steadily enough.

Opheila, who had been watching events unfold unusually silently, picked up her shield and joined them. "Stay close to me. I'll watch out for you."

"Thank you," the dwarf girl smiled warmly. Somehow, that smile dissolved the last throes of hostility in the room, and they all formed a less-than-orderly line and trudged off, Ayel walking briskly, clearly sulking in the front.

However, Opheila wasn't done. "That was nicely handled," she remarked to Eragon before they had gone far. "I bet you feel really mature and adult now, huh? Well, remember you're still –"

"Only a few years older than all of you, I know," he recited, cutting her off. "Thing is, I have seen some serious shit, so, nineteen or not, you listen to me."

She smirked. "Cursing sounds weird in your mouth."

"And there goes all the respect I was supposed to have just earned." With a sigh, the hope and heir to the Riders' legacy picked up his feet and went after the brooding adolescent in front of him. He had a feeling that soon, his problems were going to be much larger. Approaching dragon-size, in fact.

Perhaps it would be even sooner than he'd thought. In a moment, he stopped short, stunned, as a smile spread across his face.

Saphira was close.


	17. Fifteen: The Sand Demon

**Chapter Fifteen with dialogue brushup and continuity edits. Enjoy!**

**Pronunciation Guide and Dictionary:**

**_Jierda_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Break_**** ; Jeer-DA**

**_Thrautha_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Throw_**** ; THRAW-tha**

**_Audr_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Up_**** ; AW-dur**

_**Naina hvitr un böllr**_ **; Ancient Language ; ****_Make round white light_**** ; NEY-na HVI-tur UN BALL-ur**

**_Kveykva_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Lightning_**** ; KVEY-kva**

**_Thrysta vindr_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Compress the air_**** ; THRISS-ta VINN-dur**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Sand Demon**

**Jeran**

He was trapped. Trapped and in the dark. The air smelled like rot-marrow-dung-bones. His wings were painfully constricted by what felt like a thousand threads, dry but wet. Even with the eyes of a dragon, he could not see until the shadows settled. Ayel felt far away, but there was no intense emotion or pain through their connection. If his partner-of-heart-and-mind was not safe, Jeran would tear through his bonds and burn a path to him. Without the definite motivation, though, he wasn't sure he could find the strength. Slowly, his eyes began to pick out shapes.

Directly in front of his snout was a wall. Every few seconds it shifted, seeming to come closer to him, accompanied by a loud, deep rushing noise. Higher and higher it climbed, until it sloped beyond his line of sight. He struggled against the web-chain-blanket-claws, but he couldn't turn his head.

_Jeran's awake, _said Ragnar's voice. He was close by. _Stop struggling, brother. It'll only wear you out._

The amber dragon whined, pawing the air. _What is this stuff?_

_Some kind of giant spider's tunnel? Who knows?_

Jeran roared. _I hate spiders!_

_Calm down! _Thera snapped from somewhere behind him and to his left._ You'll wake it up again!_

_That wasn't my fault! _Naroki cut in, but her mental voice was eclipsed by a deluge of rocks being shaken loose from the wall and crashing down amidst Jeran. He writhed when one of them struck his leg, but another ripped through a few threads and he was able to turn his head.

Ragnar was right next to him, tangled terribly but at least he was upright. Thera was upside down, and only a single wing and her head and neck were exposed. Naroki's legs were dangling comically, but her swimming-dog efforts were less effective than the cords she'd obviously bitten through around her nose. Behind her was another cocoon; by its size, Jeran guessed it to be Ithros. It was entirely bound up and not moving at all.

_Where's Saphira?_

Thera blinked. _She's suspended even higher up. Hasn't said a word or made a move, but she's alive._

_Probably grooming up there, knowing her, _puffed Ragnar.

The threads that held them were an inky, mottled gray and very cold. A sudden thought caused Jeran to open his mouth.

_Don't try to set them on fire, we already turned most of the floor to glass and it didn't leave a single scorch mark. _Naroki growled and gnashed her teeth. _Unless you can free your claws, we're stuck._

If Jeran had been a two-legs, he would have shaken his head. _No luck there. _He turned to look as a shredding noise split the physical silence. Ithros's slug-bundle-maggot-cocoon was torn near the top and a pair of fangs, plus tongue, had succeeded on working their way free. They spread apart as a bellow fairly shook the entire web.

_Ithros! Keep it down! Oh, he's really gonna do it this time! _Ragnar frantically spasmed, but didn't seem to achieve anything.

_What are you so concerned about waking up, anyway? _asked Jeran.

Thera motioned with her wing. _See that wall?_

_Yeah…_

_It isn't._

_Isn't what? _

_A wall, you idiot! Who let you out of your egg?_

_Ayel did._

_That was a rhetorical insult!_

The incessant rushing noise got even louder, and more boulders rolled down from the ceiling. The cavern itself trembled, and the wall in front of Jeran's face shot up, up, up…

And was replaced by a sea of glistening black.

The eye blinked.

_Ah, now we've done it, _Naroki said ruefully.

Too shocked to answer, Jeran stared at what could only be another dragon or something much worse. A subliminal instinct seemed to awaken within him and he redoubled his efforts to free himself. _Out, out, out! _The others acted accordingly, which is to say, they did the exact same thing.

_What is that?_

_Oh, we are _so_ dead!_

_I have a bad feeling about this…_

_Everyone stop! _Ithros's deep baritone was colored with frustration. _Keep absolutely still. One move and this beast will kill you… and if it doesn't, I'll kill you when I get out of here._

None of the other dragons argued. Jeran hurried to curb his movements and equalize the web around him, but it remained disturbed and was still thrumming and bouncing when the giant eye started moving.

It focused on each of the cocoons in turn, but didn't appear to find anything of interest in either one. After flicking its gaze to Jeran and holding it for an uncomfortable length of time, it rolled back and the wall slammed shut. No one spoke until the rushing had subsided and returned to regular intervals.

_See? Now do everyone a favor and keep from roaring; or extreme mental shouts, please. _Ithros never said 'please'. His tongue flicked out of the web, tasting the air. _Nnh. Foul in here._

Jeran wriggled and faced the giant sack of webbing. _How'd you know it wouldn't still go after us?_

_Predators will always pay the most attention to moving targets. _The black dragon bared his fangs. _Even connoisseurs such as we are privy to this law. She's tired right now. If we don't move, she goes on napping._

Naroki stretched her forelegs. _She? Who is she?_

_You see that wall?_

_I do, sort of._

_It isn't._

_That's what I said! _cried Thera. There was a pregnant pause in the rushing sound.

_Shut up, Thera, _said Ragnar. _You're going to wake… um, her._

_I-_

_Shut up, Thera, _Jeran added.

_You-_

_Thera? _offered Ithros gently.

_Yes?_

_Shut up._

Smoke billowed from the silver she-dragon's nostrils, but she said nothing further.

_"__She" is this giant thing that caught us while we were napping upstairs. I know it's female because there were tiny little ones that dragged us down here and they can only be her children. It's like ants. Or spiders._

Ragnar made a disgusted noise._ Leaning a little toward the spiders, but I see what you mean._

_In any case, we are trapped. While mama over there is still asleep, we have some time to live… that is, of course, if the kids don't get to us anytime soon. But _they _are all in there. _His forked tongue made an indicative gesture.

_Um, Ithros, it's a little hard to tell where you mean when you're pointing with your tongue. _

Ithros growled. _Fine, Thera! It's the large opening behind me. _

_Actually, there are three._

_Did I _ask_ how many there were?_

_Guys. _Jeran shot a line of flame from his mouth. _Volume._

_Sorry._

_Any idea what happened to our two-legs? I can sense Ayel, but I can't pin him down._

_I think… I think they're in that tunnel too. Coming toward us? I don't know. _

Naroki had been flailing her claws again, but dropped them in exhaustion. _Great. I can't get under this thread. Anyone else?_

Here followed a general chorus of grumbled _no_'s. Jeran looked up at the ceiling of the cave. It was shrouded in mist and almost looked like it was making its way downward, slowly. It was well matched with the feeling that he was going to die down here. They were trapped. Trapped and in the dark.

He cast out his mind. _Ayel, where are you?_

**Ayel**

Ayel was kicking a rock angrily when a sand demon burst out of the ground.

He'd been minding his own business – dragging his feet, brooding, and what have you – when one of the locals had decided to pop up and say hello like a starved-for-attention puppy. As a result, he was not only startled, but realized he was about to die, and so promptly threw himself out of the way. He heard Opheila yell, "Enemy contact!" behind him as he rolled painfully on the stone floor, scraping his palms on a patch of gravel – _ow, ow, ow _\- to pick himself up. A haphazard blow slammed into the ground next to his head, throwing up shards of rock in every direction. Ayel would have liked to counterattack, but as the first sand demon turned to face him, another came from his left, oil-black saliva dripping from its myriad fangs. Instinctively, he raised his sword, and then dodged frantically when it lunged at his neck.

"Jierda!" uttered Eragon. A beam of blue light speared the second sand demon and its carapace seemed to collapse in on itself. Able to gain some distance now that his flank was clear, Ayel pivoted and started after the first one. It was in the middle of the group and gyrating wildly, feinting with its talons so that the Riders scrambled in the suddenly cramped quarters of the tunnel. _Have the walls been closing in? _Ayel felt a hundred eyes at his back. A plume of fire arced over his shoulder, and he turned to see a freshly steaming corpse. When he turned back, he was just in time to see yet another sand demon rearing up behind Beq, whose hand was still outstretched from casting the flames.

Out of options, Ayel tossed Hljödhr into the air and cried, "Thrautha!" The enchanted sword shot straight forward like an arrow and impaled the sand demon through its open mouth. It stumbled and forced them both to duck out of the way as it lunged on its last breath. He and Beq exchanged nods, their quarrel momentarily forgotten, and then resumed course. Which didn't mean Ayel wasn't still pissing mad.

Once he had retrieved his blade and reached the spot where their group had more or less congealed several yards away, Vaas was already cutting what looked like the last enemy in half with Vindkverst. Astrid was on one knee, light flowing from her gedwëy ignasia into a cut on Opheila's thigh. "Is everyone alright?" Eragon asked urgently, looking up from the circle of bodies he was somewhat entrenched within.

"We're all here," was Ayel's answer. "And I hate to be the buzzkill, but there are more of them out there." He quickly made sure he had someone to his back and slowly looked back to the passage ahead. It was dark as always, but the fog had a heavier feeling to it. As if it was fuller at the walls but thinner in the center. _Does that mean what I think it does?_

"How many, do you think?"

"Should it matter?" Vaas snarled. "We're close. Let's blast our way through."

"No, wait." Eragon had made his way to the front. "Listen. What is that mysterious ticking noise?"

The mysterious ticking noise was coming from the unusually distributed mist and gradually increasing in volume. It was oddly rhythmic.

"Kind of catchy," said Opheila lightly.

Ayel grinned at her sidelong. "Wanna dance?"

"Not until you wash that tunic."

"Aw, come on. A little blood never hurt anyone."

"Not unless you're losing it," said Vaas.

Astrid's knuckles were white on the shaft of her axe. "Guys? Not helping!"

While they were chatting, the mysterious ticking noise had grown louder into a rather sinister tapping noise. By now, though, it was becoming a dangerously close pounding noise. The mood quickly evaporated, and the Riders stood in wary silence until something stepped into the light. All Ayel could see at first was the lethally sharp apex of a scythe-like limb. _Well, that's encouraging. _Then, with alarming speed, a dark form skittered toward them and stopped just short of twenty feet away.

This sand demon was different from the others. It was slightly larger, and though roughly the same shape, was markedly unique. On either side of its wide mouth, pincer-like mandibles hung menacingly in front of its teeth. It had the beginnings of a tail, and its carapace had several spikes and curves unseen among its brethren. What set it apart the most, of course, was that it didn't attack with the same tenacity. It simply stared at them, which was somehow worse. They had learned that the sand demons could be predictable, could be exploited. To encounter one now that didn't follow the same pattern was unnerving.

"Hold," Eragon said with steel in his voice. His students checked their furtive advance. "I want to see what this one does."

What it did was continue to stare at them. After a moment, Ayel could almost make out the shapes of the typical sand demons behind it in the shadows, holding position without moving. Time continued to pass without event. _I wonder, if we just stayed here for hours, would it keep sitting there watching us? _He made a thoughtless movement to shift his weight and its head swiveled with a disgusting noise, eyes locked onto him before he even knew it had noticed.

"Ayel, what the hell?" Vaas whispered, sounding more freaked out than frustrated.

"Sorry! Was I supposed to know it would do that?" Try as he might, Ayel found it impossible to disconnect from the creature's gaze. He felt so mesmerized that if he happened to make eye contact, it was difficult to break it.

Eragon hadn't heard them. He was focusing on murmuring something in the ancient language, but the spell didn't seem to have any effect on their new visitor. A few seconds later, he took a single step forward. Reliably, the sand demon's head jerked into place to glare at him again. He took another step, and it slowly opened its mouth in a rictus of aggression. However, rather than leaping forward and trying to bite the Rider's throat out, it let out a long, low hiss.

"Well, that settles that," he said. "I think they'll let us pass."

Vaas snorted. "Yeah, and then tear into us once our backs are exposed."

"I'm serious," Eragon insisted. "This is it. If they're holding off now, that means we're about to meet whatever dragged us down here in the first place." He flicked some sand out of his hair. "Trust me. Do exactly as I say and we might get out of this alive." He kept walking toward the lead sand demon, and it made no move to intercept.

"Damn it," said Ayel, and against his better judgment, he followed his teacher into the crowd of the enemy. Debris shifted at the feet of the others behind him. "Somebody watch our backs." He hoped his whisper reached the back of the formation.

The sand demons parted slightly to allow them space, but never took their eyes off them as they passed. Several hissed like their alpha, or looked as if they were reconsidering not charging forward. However, despite the tenuous suppression of their killer instinct, none of them attacked. At the edge of the mob was the mouth of the tunnel.

Even compared to the previous chambers, it was absolutely enormous; at least two hundred feet high. And that was nothing to the cavern it led to.

"Would you look at this place," breathed Opheila. Ayel glanced back at her, both of them awestruck by the sheer scale of the room. It was simply too great in size for words. The mist was much, much less prominent here, but it still made it impossible to see the far side. The cave seemed to contain many levels, and half-eroded rock formations spanned certain gaps like bridges. Far, far below, the ground was invisible underneath a mess of stringy, matte gray ooze that doubled over itself in a morbid sort of cat's cradle. Like the first chamber, trickles of sand ran from the very ceiling like hourglasses.

Beq quickly made an observation. "On the bridge. Good spot for some bow action." He motioned to a trio of juveniles on one of the pylons, the largest.

"We should remember that," Eragon said. "I'm more worried about the giant one."

_Oh, yeah. Wonder how I overlooked – OH MY GODS WHAT IS THAT? _Feeling a chill of shock sweep over him, Ayel instinctively took a step back. In almost the dead center of the cavern was a lump. An exceedingly huge lump. So exceedingly huge, in fact, that its crest reached just a few feet under the lip of the cliffside they were standing on. It seemed to rise and fall at regular intervals, and Ayel soon noticed that it was breathing. It made a noise like the winds of a typhoon, which echoed throughout the rock walls. The lump was ridged and gnarled, dark, dusty brown, and in every way resembling the smaller animals populating its network of tunnels. This was a true sand demon, a child of the Hadarac – feaster on dragons and the monster from the dunes.

Vaas choked. "Sweet Hegraz. I mean, I'm not even sure I could take him."

_Her. _Ithros's voice was so sudden that Ayel jumped. _It's a she. _

_Also, you all took your bloody time, _added Thera.

Ayel hesitated. _Jeran?_

_Well, look who's here. I have a dog of an itch on the tip of my nose. You going to come and scratch it or not? _Despite his decisive cattiness, relief and joy flooded through their mental link. Ayel felt whole and comfortable again, and sensed the same emotions multiplied around him as the other Riders made contact with their own dragons.

Only Eragon was frowning. "Saphira's still unconscious," he said uncertainly. "And she's not anywhere close to the rest. I'll climb up and get her. Everyone, go free your dragons quickly and quietly. Stay away from the webbing." He muttered, "Audr!" and rose into the air toward a thicket of strands that was as good a place as any to keep something Saphira's size.

Ayel started to pick his way to the edge, but balked at the hundred-meter drop. "Anyone see a path down?" he called.

"Over here!" Astrid waved to them. "It's a little steep, but if we just –" a patch of sand loosened under her foot and she tipped over the edge, so sudden she couldn't even scream.

"Astrid!"

"Holy – oh." Opheila had made it to the lip of the cliff first. "Hey, she's okay! She just sort of slid all the way down." She looked up, grinning. "How'd you like to forget we're not eight years old for a minute?"

Ayel had to admit, pitching himself onto the incline and sliding down the sand was fun. He might not have been the most reluctant. And he indeed hadn't meant to collide with Vaas and Beq at the bottom. However, they were all far more interested in reaching their dragons.

Jeran was entangled in a bundle of webbing that wound around his belly and branched out to constrict his back legs and wings. He turned his head when he saw his human coming. _Thank goodness. Cut me loose? _

_No, I thought I'd just hang around a bit and have a breather first. _Gamely, Ayel began hacking through the strands with Hljödhr. They stuck to the blade a little, but otherwise parted easily for Brightsteel. In a few moments, Jeran could move enough to use his claws, and he was free shortly. The amber dragon tossed his snout and shook himself, muscles rippling under his scales.

_Ugh. Cramps…_

_You'll work them out. Besides, we're going to fly out of here, if I'm not mistak – _

A thunderous roar pierced the acoustics of the cavern, sending the myriad webstrings into a frenzy. Ayel looked up to see Saphira rising above the remains of her imprisonment, her jaws wide open to spew fire at one of the sand demons on the bridge. After appearing to have cooked it thoroughly, she swooped in, snapped it up in her jaws, and shook it down her gullet. Not even trying to alter her flight path, she plowed into the other two nearby, sending them plummeting to their deaths. A mental shout sent her voice to all assembled in the room. _Little Ones, do NOT eat these things. They may be prey to us now, but they taste like they've been dead for months!_

_When did you eat something that had been dead for months to compare with this? _asked Thera.

Saphira's tone was perturbed. _You don't need to know. Just don't do it. In fact, don't eat anything if you don't know what it is._

Ayel had finished wiping the webbing off of Jeran's saddle and was climbing on. _Let's get up there. I think we should get out of here before…_

A creeping sensation that he was being watched made Ayel turn around.

Instead of finding a hundred eyes like the last time, he found one. To be fair, it wasn't lacking in size.

"Get off the ground _now_!" he yelled, holding on with his knees as Jeran took off in a rush of wind. He saw Naroki and Ragnar take off out of the corner of his eye, and it wasn't until they'd flown above the cliff in front of the entrance that he could account for Ithros and Thera. None of the dragons was riderless, so he had only to reach Eragon and Saphira so they could make their daring escape and leave the sand demon's foul lair behind.

He noticed a moment later that the slipstream was fighting them. Jeran was putting a lot more energy into keeping on course than he should have had to, and it took another glance behind them to see why. The lump had raised its head. _Oh, hell._

It was massive, triangular like its children, and the eyes were deep-set and glaringly full of predatorial malice. Its mouth was open, sucking in the air with incredible force, showcasing rows of teeth not unlike the stalagmites in the cavern around them. While it was impossible to tell exactly how big it really was, its maw looked wide and tall enough for dragon and rider to pass unscathed.

"It's even uglier than the bite-size ones!" Vaas's voice carried from across the gap. The five had just about reached Saphira, and were staying ahead of the sand demon so far.

Eragon saw them getting close and raised Brisingr, taking charge. "Saphira and I will take Vaas and Ithros behind it to attack the base of its skull! Jeran, Ayel, Astrid and Ragnar, stay in front of it and keep those eyes on you! Thera, Opheila, Beq and Naroki – go for the hands!" Not until he said this did Ayel notice that the leviathan had hands – two of them, more feelers than hands, really – that grasped and swung at the flying dragons. They were easy to avoid and one could see them coming for a mile away, but every few seconds they would twist with a burst of speed that made them unpredictable. Ayel guessed that this was what he had seen reaching for the dragons as they tried to take off during their first encounter with the sand demons. The more he saw of it, the more he was convinced: everything about the sand demons as a species was wrong. They were obviously a work of nature, but at the same time didn't seem to work within its rules. It made him uneasy.

"Let's go, Ayel!" Astrid said from to his right. Ayel nodded to her and Jeran kept steady pace with Ragnar, racing toward the sand demon's face. Not the most picturesque destination, but they'd make it work.

Everything was going fine until Jeran had to swerve wildly to dodge a furious swipe. Ducking just to keep from falling out of the saddle, Ayel grimaced. "Opheila! _Hands_, if you don't mind!"

"Relax, I got it!" he heard before a silver streak sliced into the probing fingers. Thera dug her claws into the back of the offending appendage. Its digits splayed, and it shook violently to dislodge her. Jeran flew past too quickly for Ayel to see if it succeeded in flinging the she-dragon off.

Ragnar was closer to the sand demon and was flying back and forth past its left eye, breathing fire and generally being a nuisance. _It's what he's best at, anyway, _said Jeran to the thought.

_Can't argue there. Let's dare to do better. _Ayel sat up straight and raised his hand as they brought to bear with the giant black pool. Forming a rude gesture, he then shouted "Naina hvitr un böllr!" An orb of light flew from his palm and corkscrewed through the air in an erratic pattern, coming to a stop directly in front of the sand demon's nose. Surprisingly, the trick worked, and the creature crossed its eyes in an attempt to focus on the ball. The decrease in Ayel's energy was inconsequential, and he and Jeran flew only a little further before quickly reversing and shooting straight through the light, sending a million fragments streaming out like fireflies.

Before much else could happen, another hand collapsed to the ground, weighed down by Naroki. The limb was in due course trapped in its own web, allowing her to take flight and leave it struggling to free itself. The sand demon shuddered as Saphira and Ithros landed on its dorsal armor, running on all fours to reach its neck. It tried to turn its head and snap at them, but Astrid gave a shrill "Kveykva!" and maroon lightning buried itself in the corresponding eye. Its open mouth let out a strident howl, releasing an unexpected current of hot air that caught Jeran and Ragnar's wings and blew them several wing-strokes back.

_Almost lost control there! We'll have to stay away from that._

_No kidding. Oh, bollocks! Look what she's done! _Thera had finally been thrown off the hand she'd been mauling and was being steadily sucked into the gaping maw of the sand demon by its breath intake.

"Oh, _Ayel!_" Opheila's singsong greeting had a note of panic to it. "Since I so nicely pulled your butt out of the fire just now, would you kindly get us out of this?"

Ayel feigned indecision, even as Jeran was already flying over. "Well…since you asked politely…" He winked at her and leaned forward as Jeran spread his wings to shield Thera from the draft. Even though it was already pulling them in, too, they were facing forward and this allowed Jeran to breathe a column of fire straight down the sand demon's throat. Seconds after the amber plume disappeared into the blackness of its throat, the rapid inhalation stopped and smoke trailed from its mouth, nostrils, and the corner of its eyes. It roared again, but by that time all the dragons were safely out of range. "Yes! Gotcha! Now all we have to do is – AUGH!" Jeran had suddenly bucked and squealed, and Ayel could feel an alien weight dragging them down. He half stood up in the saddle and spun to see a sand demon raise its talons, leering at him. Barely enough time to think that it must have jumped from the bridge nearby passed before it struck him and he fell backward. He couldn't tell where it had hit him, which was bad; nor could he find the strength to move. His vision flashed red and blurry. As if far away, he could hear Astrid scream.

"Ayel's hurt! They've got a bug on their back!"

"I can't get to him fast enough!" Opheila sounded frantic.

Something purple floated in front of him and a figure landed between him and the sand demon looming over him. "Hold onto your guts while I rip out his," said Beq tersely. A series of dull impacts ensued, but Ayel couldn't see the fight. Jeran began to gain altitude, but he couldn't throw off the sand demon without sending Beq and Ayel with it. Someone else came up next to him and pressed a hand to his stomach. Light pierced his eyes, and momentarily his vision cleared. His belly button itched something terrible.

"Ow," he muttered, sitting up slowly. Next to him was Opheila. Her skin was very pale, and she looked unsteady on her feet. "_Thank_. _You_. How bad was it?"

"As bad as I said," growled Beq from a few feet away. He was giving it his best effort to move the body of the sand demon and push it off Jeran's back.

"You tell me," said Opheila. "Next time you eat something we'll find out. I've never replaced someone's intestines before." She smiled thinly. "I trust I won't have to again?"

"No, I'll be fine. Get on out of here. You're in no condition to fight." Since she didn't resist, he assumed the healing had taken as much out of her as it looked like it had. He helped her gently cross over onto Thera's back, and the two of them flew a safe distance away.

Beq finally had managed to move the corpse just enough to let it slide the rest of the way off Jeran's flank. It left a smear of blood on its way. The dark-skinned warrior stood up to his full height and whistled for Naroki, who drifted closer.

"Hey, listen," Ayel began. "I know we fought, but –"

"Save it." Beq didn't turn to look at him. "We may not like each other, but you'd do it for me." Without another word, he leaped across and mounted up, likewise to rejoin the fight.

Ayel's mouth twisted into a scowl. _He's right. _

_You're still pissed at him?_

_No. But I'm sure I will be again soon._

Eragon's voice rose above the din. "Everyone break! We've trapped and blinded it, so go for the neck!" Saphira and Ithros had already been joined by Ragnar, Thera was close by, and Naroki and Jeran were only a minute away. Of course, that's when everything went wrong.

The sand demon reared, at long last recovering from the concussive attacks to the base of its skull. It shook itself like a wet dog, forcing the dragons to sink their fangs and claws into its hide to stay on board. Unfortunately, the Riders were not so lucky. Not having had time to strap into their saddles, several of them were shaken loose. Astrid managed to catch herself on Ragnar's tail spikes, but Vaas was a little too late and fell into a ridge on the armor plates of the sand demon's spine. Eragon didn't stop on anything, and Saphira bellowed as he tumbled past her reach.

"Eragon just went down! I can catch him, but I need clear airspace!" Ayel called out. A buzz of activity saw spells released and dragons moving to find purchase as he and Jeran sped toward the falling body. They veered to evade the one free hand that the sand demon had left, and in a split second Eragon crashed into Ayel. The youth grunted in pain, but his new neighbor made no move. A hurried tossing revealed why: Eragon had somehow hit his head and blood was leaking out, but the wound was beneath... "Opheila, why couldn't you have cut _his_ hair?"

"What?"

"Never mind! I've got him! Keep pressing the attack!"

_Bring him to me, _demanded Saphira.

Jeran dove to gain speed. _On it, ma'am!_

Eragon groaned. Ayel checked the spreading pool of blood, hoping he could make it until his hands were free to heal him. "Can you die later, master? It just isn't a good time now." The sand demon roared again, but the blast of heated air only licked the back of Jeran's legs and they made it far enough away to slow down. Releasing the horn of his saddle, which he had been gripping painfully tight, Ayel held his hand over the general area of the bleeding and murmured, "Waíse heill." It took longer than he expected, but it stopped the flow and Eragon's eyes flickered open.

The first thing he said was, "Does anyone else feel like our wards never even existed?"

"Story of my life," Ayel grumbled. "How are you planning to get us out of here?"

The head Rider grinned, holding up Brisingr. "We'll wing it." He then jumped ten feet into the air and rolled onto Saphira's back. "Final stretch! Let's do what we can to contain this thing!"

Unfortunately, there were still a lot of elements to the previous plan going wrong. Most of the team had climbed back into the saddle, but the sand demon had freed its other hand and was striking at the ceiling of the cavern, shaking the ground far below and causing the isolated trickles of sand to widen and drop larger pieces of rock. A surge of realization and fear bit Ayel in the spine. _It's trying to bring the whole ceiling down on our heads! _"Forget the kill! Get as far away as you can from it!"

Opheila looked up and seemed to come to the same conclusion. "He's right! It's going to cause a cave-in!" Thera took off like a shot and had to swerve through a network of boulders that were still in free-fall.

"Get up high!" Eragon advised. "Don't go close to the center and watch out for those rocks!" The others followed his instructions, but Saphira made no move to fly. Instead, she swung underneath the sand demon's neck and began savaging its throat.

_Go on, all of you. I'm not finished here, _she said grimly. Ayel cursed and faced front as Jeran strained to gain altitude, listening to the roars and howls below. The rockfall was becoming more perilous and none of the dragons could stay in one spot for more than a few seconds. He tried to feed some of his energy to Jeran, but even if he'd depleted his stores entirely, it wouldn't have been enough to make a difference. They were both tiring fast, and the most that was keeping them aloft was the desire not to die in the cavern. Ducking to avoid having the top three inches of his skull sheared off by a large piece of jackknifing slate, the dark-haired youth noticed a large group of sand demons scuttling out onto the bridge.

"Looks like Beq was right," he observed. "Hey! Opheila; Astrid! Up for a little target practice?" It was obvious that the sand demons were either going to attack Saphira or try to jump onto the dragons in flight like they had before. Among them was the unusually proportioned beast that had stared them down in the tunnel.

"Kind of hard to hit them with all the stones falling in front of us!" said Astrid. She had strung her bow, but couldn't seem to draw a bead on anything without having her aim disrupted.

A goose-fletched arrow zipped through the air, changed direction so as not to hit a slab of granite, and came to a full stop just in front of Ayel's face. He considered it briefly. "Clever girl."

Behind him, Opheila had her quiver on her lap and a nimbus of grey around her fist. She grinned. "I don't know if I can keep this up for long, but you have to admit, it's genius." The arrow did a half-turn and streaked forward, hitting a sand demon straight in the eye. Ayel supposed if the shot were farther away, it would be more costly to control. Still, she had a point.

"We need some kind of a weapon that we can use to clear enemies clumped up," mused Vaas. "And we can throw it from dragonback when they're below us and take out a bunch of them at a time."

_Fire?_ Ragnar wondered.

_With pieces of metal or stone or something. Or even a bright light, like Yaela's stun arrows,_ Thera added, joining in.

Astrid nodded at the last one. "Something that isn't lethal, maybe."

Ithros blew smoke from his nostrils. _You're no fun, shrimp._

"Hey!"

_It's like I said – you're all small to me. And if we're going somewhere with this, hurry up, because between dodging rocks and staying away from those things, I'm getting a little winded._

_That's it!_ Jeran cut in, ignoring every word after 'bright light'. _These creeps live in the dark. We can blind them easily._

Ayel's face lit up. "Best idea you've had all day. I'd even call it a _bright_ idea! Those Sand Demons must be still _in the dark_ about it. Let's shed some _light_ on their situation!"

"Oh, you did _not_ just say that," groaned Opheila.

Chanting a slight variation on the spell he'd used to distract the giant sand demon, Ayel produced a dull orb, which he threw at the crowd below. On impact with the ground, a flash of white light erupted from the ball, accompanied by a noise like a thunderclap. His targets staggered, discombobulated. "Okay!" he said cheerfully. "Everything went better than expected. Problem solved with a flash and a bang!"

"Flashbangs," muttered Vaas. "Totally keeping that one."

Eragon came out of nowhere. "What are you knuckleheads going on about?" He and Saphira were gaining height, coming up from underneath the group. Ayel looked back to the sand demon. Its body was lying in a heap on the cavern floor. Occasionally, it would twitch, but couldn't seem to move much more than that.

"We could carry them around instead of having to cast the spell on the fly…"

"Just practicing magic. So are we going to get out of this hole or what?" asked Opheila.

"One with fire, one with lightning, et cetera, but they'd _also_ need cool names…"

Eragon pointed at the center of the cavern, which was already crumbling. "Allow me," he said.

"Rasengan!...Wait, that's not right."

"Gum-Gum Pistol!... No, that sounds dirty."

"Big Bang Attack!... Too angsty. Well, we could always name them _all_ something like-"

"Deloi, sharjalví!"

"But that means earth, mov – whoa!" Caught in the middle of naming the new spells, Ayel and Vaas were completely surprised by the sudden work of intense magic reverberating through the mental plane.

The force reached from Eragon's raised arm to the ceiling of the cave, and fissures spread like running water throughout the sandstone until a large section collapsed and plummeted to the floor. Close behind were about a thousand tons of sand, assorted debris, and several small animals that had been eking out their tiny lives from the ground that just fell out from underneath them, quite literally turning their world upside down. Waning sunlight streamed in through the gaping crater, and burned Ayel's eyes. He squinted, but didn't want to look away.

Basking in the moment would have to wait, though, because the collapse was spreading rapidly toward the edges of the room. "Come on! Let's fly out of here!" shouted Eragon. "Whatever you do, try not to get hit on the way!" A moment later, a pebble struck his nose. "Ow! I just _had_ to say something!"

"You heard the man!" Ayel was flung backward as Jeran climbed into the air, twirling to make it through the cascading stones and finally winning free of the cave. Sand was pouring into the hole, but the rest of the Hadarac looked the same as it ever had: nondescript, sandy, and hot. The mountains of Du Fells Nángoröth were closer now, brooding over the landscape in all their glory. _Now I know why I got 'that feeling' when we saw them earlier._

Someone shrieked in his mind. _Can't get free! Going down! _It was Naroki. The purple dragoness was clawing at the rim of the crater, foiled by the rushing sands. Her wings were pinned and being dragged over the edge by a boulder the size of a fishing boat.

Ayel immediately picked out the closest dragon. "Thera!"

_I see them, _she said, and dove. Jeran came after her with equal speed, and the two dipped under the lip of the hole and braced against each side of Naroki's body. Together, they managed to fly her upward, the way dolphins help a sick member of the pod to the surface for air. Beq was coughing up an uncomfortable quantity of sand.

Finding it difficult to lift her, Jeran grunted, _Knock that boulder loose, will you?_

Opheila and Ayel looked at each other. "Could you get that? I don't have the energy," she said apologetically.

Ayel didn't know if he had the energy, either, but he moistened his lips and commanded, "Thrysta vindr." A harsh breeze struck the boulder and sent it rolling off Naroki's back. Ayel didn't bother controlling where it landed, but laid back and sighed, spent. Hopefully, he could relax now that everyone was clear. Naroki spread her wings and rose out of the claws of her supporters. Before they continued, Ayel looked up at Beq. "You'd do it for me," he said.

Beq shrugged, scowling, and turned to face forward.

"You two going to hug it out now?" Opheila cracked with a wry smile. Too exhausted to retort, Ayel waved her off and tried to relax, closing his eyes as the dragons took wing. The sky was brighter behind him, but even the western clouds were pink with the evening.

_It's good to have the sun on my scales again! _Thera proclaimed. _You know, we kind of kicked ass down there._

Jeran snorted. _True, but there was a lot of unnecessary near-death experience as well._

"Hey, we're _normally_ about to die. I'd put more money on Eragon's teaching killing us than those stupid bugs," said Vaas jovially.

_Besides, _Ithros interjected. _Now that we're in the clear, we can get on to Ilirea and then go fight some more stupid Ruined. Everything's in order. Kicking ass, staying alive, fighting stupid stuff. What more could we ask for?_

Astrid fidgeted with her kirtle. "A moment of peace and quiet?"

"I'm with Astrid on this one," said Eragon. Saphira hummed. "We know the feeling. Now, you all may get some rest at the capital, but I won't."

_Why not? _Ragnar sounded appalled. _You had more of a workout just now than any of us._

"Well…" Eragon looked queasy. "Once Arya finds out I brought you all there, there'll be too much yelling for me to sleep, I suppose."

"You're exaggerating, master," Opheila said soothingly.

_No, he's not, _laughed Saphira. _Totally worth it, but we're in for the big one. _

"Well," Ayel said abruptly without opening his eyes. "At least that's all we have to worry about, and not a deadly predator that eats dragons for breakfast."

"I'll drink to that," admitted Eragon, losing some of his tension.

On that note, they fell into a silence and simply took in the free air and sunset, finally back on course.

_Kind of anticlimactic, considering we just escaped certain death._

_Shut up, Jeran! I'm trying to sleep!_


	18. Sixteen: For The Worthy

**HELLO I THINK MY CAPS LOCK IS STUCK**

**There we go. Anyway, here's the chapter. It's kind of short, and waiting until the fifteenth probably wasn't great, but the fact is with how busy I am we'll probably just have to decide we can wait longer for better-quality chapters, since that seems to be the rallying cry these days. I'm doing my best, and I had fun writing this one, so here you go.**

**Chapter Sixteen: For The Worthy**

**Ayel**

_"__Faster, Ayel! Move your feet!"_

_Ayel gritted his teeth and wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheekbone. His wooden practice sword wasn't heavy, but his arms were still getting tired fast – he was pretty sure the numerous bruises he was amassing didn't help, either. He would get used to it, though; only the little ones cried when they were hit, and it was doubly important not to cry when he was sparring with his father. He ducked under a lightning-quick blow, wishing dad would pull his punches more. "Work up some aggression! Stop dodging away. It only gives me another chance to close with you." Cadmon was firm, if not gentle, and held back just as much criticism as he did force. He deflected a clumsy swing flawlessly, sending Ayel's arm wide. "Don't telegraph your moves. Keep your sword in front of you and swing from there. Holding it out to the side tells me exactly where you're going to go, like this." The next parry sent the boy reeling. "Aggression, Ayel!"_

_Even though no one's eyes were on him but his father's, Ayel's face still burned with shame when his sword was knocked out of his hand again. A splinter stayed in the flap between his thumb and forefinger, but he ignored it. "Sir," he said with trepidation, as Cadmon did not appreciate having his words quoted back to him. "You told me never to attack in anger."_

_ "__I told you never to attack in anger, yes. I didn't say you couldn't attack with it. Keep it under control. Use it to eliminate fear, caution, self-preservation; weak emotions like that are what prevent you from doing your duty. What is your duty?"_

_Ayel knew this game. "To protect my mark."_

_ "__Who is your mark?"_

_ "__It doesn't matter. Anyone who needs-"_

_ "__Anyone who needs to be protected," Cadmon finished crisply. He brushed his coal-black hair out of his eyes. Subconsciously, Ayel mirrored him, even though his hair wasn't yet long enough to be a hassle. Sweat was soaking through the tunics and britches they both wore, turning their dusty tan into a grayish brown. After a moment of resting on the hilt of his sword, Cadmon turned and motioned with his hand. "Retrieve your blade. We're done for today."_

_Ayel's eyes widened. "Really?" He had been expecting his father to push him even harder, as he had been for some time since he'd taken Ayel out of fighter practice early for private lessons. _

_Without looking back, Cadmon opened the door. His son followed him, eyes upturned. "Yes. You're learning quickly. I'm… proud of you for that." Now he met Ayel's gaze, the same shade of silvery hazel. "What's wrong? You don't seem pleased."_

_ "__I do not need praise, nor do I seek it out," the boy recited stoically. _

_The man clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man, Ayel. Come with me to pick up some things, and we'll go see your mother."_

_Ayel's brows furrowed. "Sir, may I speak freely?"_

_ "__Granted, son."_

_ "__Dad, you're acting… weird. Are you worried about something?"_

_Sighing, Cadmon stopped walking and knelt down to his son's level, murmuring, "It is not a good sign that I'm this easily read, but it's a good sign that you read so easily." His eyes were piercing, but had the look of a hunted animal – or someone who was trying very hard to conceal that look. "Ayel, listen to me. You're only ten."_

_ "__Eleven in two months, father!"_

_ "__Months don't matter, seconds do. It can take seconds for something to be taken away, but ages to fill the space it leaves. Do you understand?"_

_Realization dawned on him. "Are you scared? But you're not afraid of anything?"_

_ "__Not for me," Cadmon whispered. "I don't care about my own life. It's yours, and your mother's, and your sisters' and those of everyone on this island that I look after. I'm the captain of the guard. It's my duty, just like yours will be: defending a Rider one day, gods willing." He placed both of his hands on Ayel's shoulders. "You're only ten," he repeated. "You're too young to understand everything, but I know you're clever enough to understand me now. There will come a time, perhaps sooner than either of us thinks when you will have to be a man. Age will force it on you, as it will Trevor and Braedyn and all the boys in the village. But you… you may have to be a man in my place." When he received a confused expression, he added, "In my absence."_

_Ayel almost choked. "Father, are you leaving?"_

_ "__Never," swore Cadmon. "Not under my own power. Nothing but death could keep me from our family. I place too much of a burden on you by what that implies." He released his son and stood up. "I wish many things, but foremost among them is that I did not have to prepare you for this."_

_ "__For what, father?" Ayel was a roiling bed of conflicting emotions, but the strongest was the sensation that he was missing something – something that would make him cry more than a bruise or a splinter ever could. "Why?"_

_Cadmon's face was blank in shadow. "We are bound to our enemy by fate," he said with difficulty. "If we don't find it, it will find us. I push you because I know you can and must take it; I push you because I would have you live when I die."_

_ "__If you're going to die, father."_

_His father didn't answer._

**Melkaroth**

He felt it call to him. He felt its **hunger** and he relished in it. It was stronger than any hunger, for food, for power, yes… even revenge, like the hunger that had driven the second threat. The one to his life. The one to **their **life, and to their grand design. The threat to utter ruin… utter **Ruin**.

The thought would have made him smile if he were the kind of daydreaming fool who smiled at his thoughts. He'd smiled when he'd killed his best friend, his brother. No, the **threat.** The first threat. The first risk. He _had_ been a daydreaming fool, thinking that Cadmon would –

**No. **Regret was for the weak. Attachments such as friend meant nothing. There was only Ruin, and with Ruin came power. It was efficient. Ruthless. It did not simply dominate, it incorporated… it improved. With Ruin came **power. **Power was for the worthy**. **And Melkaroth was steeped in power, he **radiated** it, and it made his underlings nervous. They were right to fear him, and fear made them utterly loyal – coupled with the power their loyalty brought, of course. Coupled with the Ruin they themselves could bring. Now he smiled, not at his thoughts, but at the sight of his control over them, at their deference. It was pleasant, but unfortunate that it was necessary to let them remain human, albeit Ruined, but human just the same. If they could have retained their awareness and been fully assimilated, his control would be that much more absolute. But the Ruin was efficient, not perfect. Perfection was for him alone, for **them** alone, and it would come with growth. With Ruin. And look – here was the start of that growth.

"Master." The young man bowed low, his forehead almost touching the floor – a privilege only he thought himself worthy of, and then only because he had been encouraged by Melkaroth himself. His fellows, another, older man, and a woman of an age in between, prostrated themselves in full. "I have news of the mission to acquire the Sand Demon."

"Speak, Kaziel," the throned man allowed. If he had been privy to such trifles, he would be pleased to see his lieutenant. The former Head Warden had recovered gracefully from the escape nearly a year before and risen to his new rank quicker than any preceding him. If Melkaroth's recollections were correct, the placeholder before Kaziel's time had been… well, he was glad he'd thrown him off the balcony into the volcano anyway. He would be glad, that was, if **they** felt gladness.

"I apologize in their stead, my liege. They failed in their task," continued Kaziel with distaste.

Melkaroth sat up straighter, beginning to catch threads of anger. "And why could Amar not tell me this in person?" he said calmly.

If Kaziel detected the veiled rage, it did not affect him. Instead, he removed his hands from where they had rested behind his back and an object dropped from his armored gauntlet. "This is all that's left of him." Under closer scrutiny, the item was revealed to be a curved sword, stained red with blood, and beginning to rust from exposure. It was the blade carried by Amar, the nomad tribesman who had become quite a useful tool. So useful, in fact, that Melkaroth had granted him use of one of his Ra'zac and a platoon from the hives to infect or steal the essence of a creature called a Sand Demon… a creature instrumental to the destruction of the only **thing** in his way. With it, **they** would not have fled from that thing when it had invaded the island not long ago, but now more planning, more waiting, and more numbers would be required to **grow** in strength enough to face it. Still, it was a setback, and he had been preparing for those as well.

"Pity," he said affably. "His brothers will not be happy with his passing, I think." Here he meant the Ra'zac who had presumably perished along with Amar. "Take them with you and exact their revengeance." Expecting to be obeyed, he glanced up when Kaziel didn't move.

"There is more, Master," he said in subdued tone. " The Sand Demon is no longer available. We know not who or what is responsible, but we do have the blood on the edge of the blade."

Melkaroth chuckled. "I already took my meal today, Kaziel. You should not hover over an old man."

"That's not what I mean, but I still think you may wish to taste it." He was being cryptic. If he wasn't straightforward next time, he would be punished, but today **they** were content and Melkaroth was willing to play along.

"Very well." He reached out his hand and ** they** forced **their** way between the plates of his gauntlet, rushing toward the sword like a deluge of gauzy oil, except in the form of flesh. **They** reached, and wrapped around it, and in seconds the iron and salt flowed into him - and a bitter aftertaste that was all too familiar. His eyes widened in surprise, and then darkened with fury and hate. "…_Cadmon_."

"No, my liege." Kaziel's face soured. "His brat."

Ah… the second threat. "So he lives." Another setback, another complication. This was enough to frustrate him. Melkaroth was not a fool. He would not release his anger or take it out on his servants. However, he had no such qualms about directing it towards his enemies, especially when it put **them** ahead of schedule. He stroked the chin of his helmet's faceplate in an affectation of human habit. "Are his family still in our camps?"

"Yes, sire. Mother, sisters, and the other who tried to escape with him. He is in waiting for execution." Kaziel moistened his lips. "Do you wish them taken care of? You know I miss the camps."

"Keep yourself under control, Kaziel," said Melkaroth, sounding bored. "Lust for power and sustenance is commonplace to those of your age, but you must act above it in my presence." The rebuke silenced his lieutenant and left him a moment to collect his thoughts. "Keep them alive. Jacine, watch over the women and see that none harm them. As for the boy, put him back to work. No questions asked."

The young woman sounded as confused as Kaziel looked. "Master, I must know why-"

He was growing impatient. "That goes for you as well. When the two of you have done this, Kaziel, take Doranu and your hives to the human port city where we've decided to begin. You may have ships, wyverns, and all the resources you require."

Doranu, the bearded man behind Kaziel and to his left, spoke without looking up. "What is our objective, my liege?"

Finally, **they** allowed him a true smile – though it was concealed by his helmet, it could be heard in his voice. "Burn a path to the desert. From there, we can begin our destiny. I remind you that this destiny is for the worthy. Do not disappoint me." They rose and left his presence.

Meanwhile, he could smell victory, and **they** reveled in it.

**Opheila**

Ayel looked positively sick. In fact, he looked like he was about to vomit for real this time. Earlier, when they'd entered a tavern and he'd tasted what was apparently his first ever mug of human-brewed ale, he'd spewed it all over his boots, yelling "What is this, _pitch_?" rather loudly. No matter how much gold they held up in front of the bartender's face, they still had gotten thrown out and were now situated in the tavern across the road. It was warm and full of light, and the ale – despite Ayel's qualms, Vaas agreed – wasn't that bad. Opheila was careful not to overdo it after their night at Astrid's house, but she didn't stick to just one mug the whole time, either. Her fluctuating tolerance had come from her mother's side, but her older brother hadn't inherited it… lucky bastard.

Speaking of Astrid, the dwarven girl was talking to a tall elf at the table next to them about something to do with songs in the ancient language that were used to grow plants, mend serious wounds, and could even deliver a baby. Though she would normally have been interested, Opheila had had too much to drink and was also having too much fun with Vaas reminiscing over their arrival an hour or so ago. With Ayel gone so quiet and Beq being… well, Beq, most of the conversation had been left to the two of them. It would have been more lively if the dragons hadn't all gone to sleep, but they deserved their rest after the long flight.

"And so," Vaas said thickly, starting at the beginning for the fifth time. "We, we get to the edge of the walls, and then Fírnen comes out like a lightning bolt and just-" he broke off laughing, and in what had become a pattern, Opheila picked up the story.

"He grabs Saphira and practically drags her to the ground, and he roars and we all hear him yelling, 'Hatchlings! Get. Down. Now.' and Saphira's whining and trying to reason with him and then Arya gets off his back and comes toward Eragon-"

"And Ayel sez, Ayel sez," Vaas nudged Ayel with his giant elbow, which produced a similar effect to hitting him with a bale of hay. "Hey, man, what'd you say again?" Ayel acted like he didn't even hear him. He was frozen, staring at the table, his expression as descriptive as the polished wood. "I'm glad I didn't have any of the ale in that other place, then," grumbled the Kull. "Anyways, 'Pheila, what did he say again?"

"Ayel says 'Here's the part where they embarrass us in front of the whole city by sharing a passionate kiss'," she remembered. "And then I asked him, 'Didn't he say she'd be angry with him?' and then Arya – she – Arya…" The brunette trailed off, muted by her own mirth.

"Arya walks right up to him, cool as ice, and looks like she's gonna deck him in the nose, and then she sez something like, 'When you said you had a school to run, I didn't think you meant you'd come running to me with it.' And Eragon, he sez, 'I did what I thought was right', or whatever, and she…she…"

"…she says, 'You went right, and I'm going _left_ – I leave you to sort out this mess on your own.' and she _turns left_ and walks straight through the castle doors, and Fírnen goes in behind her, and Eragon was sitting there with that bewildered expression on his face, like he's just been hit over the head with a shovel-"

"And you sez, 'Ayel, looks like you were wrong about that passion they were supposed to share.' and Ayel turns and stares straight at you, and he sez, he sez, he…" he shook Ayel's shoulder again. "Hey, Ayel! Anyway, he sez, 'You don't get it, Blue Jay… Arya took the flames of their passion and froze them up with the cold shoulder.' without missing a beat!" Vaas threw back his head and laughed as loud and as long as generally possible, something he had not failed to do the last four times they'd told the story. Opheila kept up, but had imbibed a lot less and was able to water it down into a smirk much more quickly.

"You really can't take your brew, can you, Vaas?" she said, grinning.

"Nope," Vaas agreed proudly. "But what makes up for it is it doesn't make me stupid, angry, or sleepy – it makes me a riot!" He collapsed into guffaws at his own unfunny "joke".

Suddenly concerned, Opheila turned to stare straight at Ayel. He hadn't moved a muscle since she'd last looked. "Okay, he's not just ignoring us. Something's up." She scooted into the next seat and took him by the arm. "Ayel?" Tilting his face toward her, she couldn't get his eyes to focus on anything, even when she looked directly into them. The pools of stormy gray had glazed over, and were wide open. His jaw was slack and his pulse, which she felt on his neck, was elevated. After this, she double-checked by holding the back of her hand to his forehead to confirm the second thing she'd noticed: his skin was feverishly hot. She was surprised he hadn't been sweating in the close air of the tavern.

"Ayel? Hey, talk to me." A jagged spike of anxiety twisted its way into her tone. "We should take him out."

"Take who out?" Astrid had reasserted herself in Opheila's old seat.

"Ayel's sick," Vaas grunted. He burped and began to tip backward in his chair.

"And so, my friend, are you," Beq sighed. "I'll watch the riot. You two take care of him if you think he needs it." He sheathed his katar, which he'd been studiously sharpening, and pushed aside his ale, which he had not touched. Vaas immediately reached for it, but the Surdan youth was fast and slid it down the tabletop out of his reach, which ended up having to be almost the entire length of the bar.

Opheila's eyelids crinkled. "Did you just say something other than pissed-off-adolescent- boy-speak?"

"Opheila!" Astrid was appalled. "You're really blunt when you've been drinking, you know that?"

Beq sighed. "Will you three get out of here?"

"And you're rude when you _haven't_ been drinking," Astrid said, but there was a strange sort of pity in her voice. She pushed under Ayel's right arm, since Opheila already had the left. "Let's get you some fresh air," she murmured in his ear. "Come on, Opheila."

Rising to her feet, Opheila helped her lift Ayel, but ended up taking most of the weight as Astrid was only tall enough to wrap her arm around his waist. The dwarf did her part, though – it was clear lifting that axe was no small feat. Together, they walked their friend out of the tavern and into the street. "You know, he's so skinny, you wouldn't think he'd weigh so much," she said, straining to heave him onto the curb of the gutter.

Astrid's voice was muffled for a moment as his tunic caught on her nose. "Not if the skinny isn't all skin. For example, he's got a really muscular back." In a moment, Ayel was sitting on the side of the street, with his back against the wall of the tavern. He still carried that blank look.

"His back, you say?" asked Opheila, curious. "Huh." She leaned down and smacked Ayel in in the stomach with the palm of her hand. It almost didn't give at all. "Well, hello there, mister defined," she said, surprised but appreciative.

"Why are we gushing about his muscles right now?" Astrid wondered pointedly. "I mean, I know I started it, but that got weird."

"We're not gushing. I'm not gushing," Opheila corrected herself. "You?"

The blonde laughed a little. "No. Ayel's cute, but he's not my type."

Her partner-in-crime raised an eyebrow. "Oh, isn't he?"

"I don't know," said Astrid. "He's a little too… tall." She chuckled to herself.

Opheila paused, frankly caught off guard. "Astrid, did you just make a short joke?"

"I think I did, yes."

"I have a newfound respect for you."

"Thank you."

"But in all seriousness…"

"Why are you so interested, pray tell?"

"It's a conversation. I'm keeping it alive. Now answer the question."

An unpleasantly smug smile crossed Astrid's face, appearing to have gotten what she wanted from Opheila's reaction. It melted into a thoughtful frown. "I think we're too similar, but too different. He's a lot like me, just… unhappy. And I think he grew up too fast."

"Maybe." They shared a look at him, still sitting there without apparent awareness.

"What about you, Opheila? What do _you_ think of him?"

"Not saying."

"Why? I answered your question. Now answer mine."

Opheila eyed him suspiciously. "Say he's pretending. Say he's listening to everything we're saying right now."

Astrid marched right up to Ayel and jabbed him in the armpit. He didn't move at all. "There. He's completely zoned out. No amount of discipline can overcome how ticklish he is."

Opheila's face lit up. "He's ticklish?"

"Severely. Almost as much as Vaas."

There was an evil grin slowly spreading from one of Opheila's ears to the other.

"Answer the question," Astrid insisted.

"Why are you so interested?" Opheila shot back.

Smiling sincerely, Astrid looked up at her. "Because Vaas, while he may be ticklish, is right. You two _are_ a cute couple. And for what it's worth, _I_ think you like him."

Opheila seriously considered being honest with Astrid, though what that would entail could vary. However, before she could say anything, a piercing , unnatural noise cut her off and drove spikes into her ears.

Ayel was screaming at the top of his lungs.

**You'll notice Melkaroth's narrative, while being deliciously evil, is also fraught with seemingly random bold words. I use them when the Ruin influences a thought, or when he refers to himself and the Ruined as one, or when he refers to the Ruined apart from himself. You can decide which one it means whenever it comes up - it doesn't truly matter, but it makes it oddly creepy and also foreshadows a pretty big thing that'll be happening later. **

**By the way, Ayel's scream has nothing to do with what Opheila and Astrid are talking about; he honestly can't hear them.**


	19. Seventeen: Wreathed in Flame

**Apologies for the length of this chapter, but it ties off the last one and sets up the next, so it couldn't be too long. I'm also on spring break, so I should have more time and we'll avoid little... absences... like the one I just pulled. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, I'm planning at least two more chapters that I want to try to get out this month, so let's do this! I'm excited because I have three straight days of Bel' fighter practice this coming week and it really helps me write action scenes. So, we'll see if I can get to the battles fast enough! In the meantime, enjoy this exposition/character development extravaganza.**

**Chapter Seventeen: Wreathed in Flame**

**Ayel**

_This wasn't a memory. _

_Fire was everywhere, sluicing across a harbor and licking viciously at whatever it could burn. Even the water itself was aflame as docked ships leaked oil into the bay. There were other ships, bristling with spikes and ragged sails, and they were beached, streams of black figures issuing forth from their holds. The fire leapt in front of them, driven by the tide of lumbering beasts. He was floating, looking on as the tiered city arrayed against the mountains was razed by its invaders. He could do nothing to stop it._

_Shapes flew past him, dragons with passengers on board. They dove into the water next to the black ships, unloaded their cargo of warriors, and thrashed in the bay, attacking the underside of each boat. The individual ground fighters engaged the crews of the ships, fighting furiously. Some of them took again to the air at success. The hardest fight was on a man o' war in the middle of the harbor, where two armored men whirled, dueling a host of enemies back to back. They seemed to be winning, but not making progress._

_Suddenly an outcry went up from the city, where men-at-arms were in the streets and archers on the rooftops meeting the interlopers. A squadron of dark, dragonlike creatures had taken flight from the storm cloud, and were continuing to send streams of fire from their maws. They had wings and tails but two legs rather than four, like a Fanghur. Once the streams of orange fire were exhausted, they flew down to the ships and attacked._

_Ayel's view sped through the city, passing the frantic house-to-house war of attrition, the blood and the screaming and the dying. He came to rest at the docks as they burned, collapsing into the ocean. Several of the merchant ships in drydock were rocked by explosions. A flash of light caught his eye from the man o' war, and he was jolted to it._

_Then he was one of the fighters he had seen, gauntleted hand reaching out to his partner, who was trapped under the mast. Pain and sorrow tore at his gut as the injured man clearly breathed his last with a dry smile. Rage clouded his vision as he turned on the dark rider and his steed that had landed on the deck. He heard himself howl in fury and raced forward. _

_Too soon, he was flung into the air and shaken violently, and a searing agony tore through him. Before his eyes shut, he heard a distant dragon's roar._

"Teirm," Ayel said, struggling to form words.

"What?" Opheila's voice was distorted, as if it came from within a bottle. He noticed she and Astrid were halfway carrying him, and made a weak attempt to move his feet.

"Fire – dying - they have…dragons." he choked. "Can't talk-"

Astrid reached up and shut his jaw with a fist. "Then stop trying. We're taking you to Eragon. He'll know what to do."

"Vision," Ayel insisted, but he reluctantly let her tone calm him down.

Looking at him askance, Opheila murmured something like, "Take it easy on yourself."

But he couldn't, because his mind kept returning to the deaths he'd seen at the docks of ruined Teirm.

**Eragon**

The walls of Ilirea were just as tall, but many of their siege weapons had been disassembled and the citadel still lay in waste, abandoned. Instead Queen Nasuada's court inhabited the half-circle of elven towers, now restored by craftsmen and connected by a network of skybridges. They set an attitude of watching over the city, with its tented rooftops and wide streets far below but not inaccessible. They were also perfect for a visiting Rider to accommodate dragons, as they included platforms for mounting and dismounting. Eragon had taken note of the idea so he could imitate it when Doru Breoaldras grew.

As evening settled, he sat in the farthest tower from the middle, where he and his students would be staying. Tonight they were supposed to rest and they would be "dealt with" in the morning. Arya had suggested as much as a formal inquiry by the Varden council, which was what an assembly of all the world leaders was now called.

Speaking of Arya… Eragon had been expecting a less-than-warm reception, but he was nonetheless surprised and hurt by her fierce rejection and subsequent avoidance of him. He'd actually chased her around the palace for a good while, trying to get a word in, but she either studiously ignored him or simply dismissed him in a businesslike manner.

Resigned to his fate until he was allowed to explain himself, Eragon set his trainees loose on the city and set up a place for the dragons to sleep atop the overhang. He then withdrew to his assigned quarters and fumed. That is, until a buzzing noise emanated from below. _Funny._ It quickly increased in volume and became a racket; apparently, someone was thundering up the stairs. There was also a great deal of yelling, which included mildly profane language. The hallway outside his door began to echo, and then a blunt impact shook his door. _Okay, what the actual hell is going on out there?_

Bemused, he stood and walked to it, when it slammed open and almost skinned his nose. One of the Nighthawks, who as a fighting force had graduated to almost a hundred strong, stood in the doorway, a beseeching expression on his young face. He was human, as were his partners, who were trying in vain to restrain three people behind him. Eragon recalled his name: Sir John Cornwall, who led the secondary division of the Nighthawks. There were two branches: the garrison who stayed in Ilirea, and a military police corps who accompanied their queen on the battlefield and, when necessary, fought with the soldiers. All of these were the Nighthawks who had served during the war with Galbatorix and had battle experience, and Eragon had always thought he recognized Sir John.

"Shadeslayer," he said in a strained voice. "I know you didn't want to be disturbed, but these three slipped right past us. They're your pupils, and we thought, well, they demanded to see you. The woman, she threatened us on pain of being…" He glanced downward at himself. "Unmanned."

_Sounds like her. _Without looking, Eragon smiled and called, "Opheila?"

"Yes, master?"

"Let go of that poor man and for Vrael's sake, sheath your dagger. He's just doing his duty. Speaking of which," he continued, turning to Sir John. "You can let them in. Next time, I advise you not attempt to stop them, though."

Cornwall bowed, looking relieved. "As you say. We'll return to our posts." He and his companions departed, leaving Astrid, Ayel, and Opheila on the landing.

"I think I'm going to puke," Ayel mumbled.

Eragon rounded on Opheila, but he wasn't really angry. "What are you doing, playing at maiming my guard?"

"They wouldn't let us through." Her blue eyes flashed. "People in authority never seem to realize that rules and protocol aren't flexible enough when you're dealing with unique circumstances."

He begrudgingly moved aside. "Don't I know you're right. Come in. Ayel, there's a basin on the table if you're still going to lose your stomach. By the way, you don't seem drunk. Did you take some bad ale?" _If he does actually vomit, I'm opening a window._

"Yeah, but that has nothing to do with it." The youth stumbled to the basin and retched, but nothing came up, so he sat on a wooden chair and cradled the bowl on his lap just in case.

Astrid wetted a cloth. "He was in a trance, and then he had a fever, now he has dizzy spells and can't hold in dinner. I think that vision was a shock to his whole system."

"Vision?"

"Premonition, whatever. It was just like his normal flashbacks, right on schedule, but instead he's certain it didn't happen and so thinks it's in the future. Anyway, it pissed him right up." Opheila took the cloth from Astrid and handed it to Ayel, who still looked very sick. "Try to cool down your face a bit."

Halfheartedly scrubbing, Ayel fixed a glassy stare on Eragon. "You know how I said that Melkaroth was planning something big, and there'd be an attack on the coast?"

_Well, it was only a few days ago. _"I remember, yes." The head Rider seated himself amongst his students.

Ayel paused to mop his forehead, choosing his words carefully. "If I've really seen the true future, which somehow I don't doubt, then I've got a location: Teirm."

As the word "Teirm" left his lips, Opheila's face lost a bit of color. "So that's what you meant," she said under her breath. _Oh, that's where she was born, wasn't it?_

"Right, your father and brother live there…I forgot." He dropped the cloth into the basin. "I hate to say it, but that's where the attack is coming. If your family could be in danger, then that's all the more reason to go, but we won't be enough. We need an army."

Eragon leaned forward, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. "I'm curious. What did you see of the enemy? They were many?"

"Thousands. Must have been over ten." Ayel looked like he was getting a better hold of himself. "They brought in a fleet under cover of darkness, lit the docks on fire, and just unloaded their troops into the streets. There was no keeping them back. I'm guessing the attack will come sooner than we expect, even if we manage to prepare a defense. We were there, but there weren't six of us and we weren't enough. They had these…things – ugh!" He clawed at his temples. _I thought he only got headaches with memories. Of course, seeing into the future could interfere with his amnesia._

"Ayel." Opheila put a hand on one of his to stop him shaking. "You told me. Remember? It was like-"

"Like that Fanghur we fought in the woods," he muttered.

Astrid added, "But worse, right?"

"But worse. Twisted and black, and they could breathe fire; they had riders and they were killing us. They were killing everyone in the city. I think we tried to land on their ships but we had casualties. If we're outnumbered…" He took a breath. "You told us all of your visions came true, between the Burning Plains and then leaving Alagaësia, so no matter what I think the best we'll be able to is evacuate the civilians before the Ruined get close." A cold light came into his eyes, as if he was just barely keeping from going berserk. It was the familiar steely look that openly communicated his desire for Ruined blood. "Then we just take as many of the bastards with us as we can." _I wish no one had trained him to think like that. It's not healthy to look at self-sacrifice as the only out._

Eragon whispered a curse, curling his hands into fists and sitting back. "They keep adapting, don't they? We don't know where they're going to turn up next, our wards don't work against them, and they're almost as hard to sense with magic as the Ra'zac, a few of which are actually on their side… This is just splendid." He locked eyes with each of them. "But we can win. We've been forewarned, so we'll be expecting an attack, no matter when. I'll make sure all six of us go, plus Arya, and we'll have an army at our backs, as well as the mercenaries and militia of Teirm. With the right plan," he looked at Ayel, "And the aversion to rules and protocol we require," he looked at Opheila, "As long as we get the civilians out, we'll have all of Teirm to soak up the Ruined assault and repel them from this land. We defeated them before, not in force, but we did fairly well against a great number without support in the desert."

"Okay, we have us as quick-response and shock troops, and my father's mercenary guild for local support; they know the city and the sea," Opheila said. "Who's our army?"

At this Eragon smiled ruefully. "As luck would have it, we're going to talk to all the rulers of Alagaësia tomorrow. If – no, not if, _when_ we convince them to trust Ayel and they understand what we have to do, we're going to petition them to raise our army."

Astrid stirred. "You don't mean…"

"Yes." He allowed his smile to grow wider. "We're going to ask them to re-form the Varden."

**I originally had Ayel saying that he didn't think they could win, but when I saw it in print I thought "I didn't figure Ayel for a runner. He'll fight until he doesn't have any limbs left to fight with!" (I'll let you guess if that's foreshadowing or not because I like to imagine you squirming. Haha I'm evil!) So I changed it to the little "If we're outnumbered" and made him get his badass face on. I realized by the end that I'd still left Beq dealing with drunk!Vaas in the pub, but I'd landed on too good of an ending so that situation has my official permission to sort itself out. I may write a one-shot about it later, actually...**


	20. Eighteen: Hearing

**Well that happened. I got a bit busy and then got a bit sick and everything just took a giant crap on my life, but I wrote lots of apocrypha to get the other ideas out of my head, and I stayed home sick from school today and just started writing at nine AM, took a break, wrote at noon, took a break, typed it up, and then the words just flowed. The important thing is that a chapter is up, it's a respectable length, and it's not my worst work, so enjoy. You'll see some good moments for a lot of the characters in this one.**

**Chapter Eighteen: Hearing**

**Ayel**

"It's time."

Ayel looked up from where he'd been sitting on the stone bench. In front of him, Eragon was halfway out of the heavy doors that led into an amphitheater conveniently appropriated for the council's meeting. He gave a brief, encouraging smile and headed back in, leaving his student to follow.

The youth stood, stretched – the muscles in his back burned – and straightened his lamaré tunic, wishing Opheila or Astrid could give him a little constructive criticism and ensure he looked presentable for once. After a futile attempt to smooth back his hair, he reached for the door, realized it was already open, and simply maneuvered around it. He had to make conscious effort to avoid yawning as he stepped over the threshold into the morning light.

The amphitheater had been a part of the mid-level floors in the westernmost elven tower. Like all the architecture present, it was composed of light brown sandstone offset by jade, which created an environment perfect for setting off the sunlight flowing in from the tall windows on the other end of the room. The entrance Ayel had just walked through opened straight to the floor, which was a broad circle flanked by rising layers of seating. Just in front of the windows, in the very center, some of those seats had been knocked out and replaced with a long mahogany table and six chairs of varying sizes, as to be considerate to the difference in species arrayed around the table.

Ayel had seen if not spoken to most of these people when the _Talíta_ had brought them to Doru Breoaldras, and recognized all of them – his memory, at least since the day he awoke with Cuaroc's sword up his nose, had been perfect so far. Of course, Queen Nasuada was in attendance, along with several of her Nighthawks (though there really was no need for them in a room full of Dragon Riders) and a young girl with a werecat in her lap. The queen was a little older than Eragon looked, and lovely in an exotic way. Ayel noticed she had lines and lines of scar tissue on her dark arms. Her silver dress and dazzling smile were obviously hiding no small amount of toughness. The werecat, asleep, was only distinguishable as a ball of mottled brown fur. When Ayel looked at the girl, she immediately met his eyes and smirked in a cynical way for someone who looked to be only ten or eleven. Her eyes, however, were an unnerving purple, and he looked away quickly, mysteriously disturbed.

King Orrin of Surda was as beardy as ever, and looked preoccupied. His white and orange jacquard coat reflected the incoming sunlight painfully. A little ways down the table was Eragon's foster brother, the dwarf king Orik, who had dragged Ayel and the others to be fitted for custom-made armor the last time they'd met. Vaas's uncle Garzvhog was the biggest Kull Ayel had ever seen and took up the entire end of the table. On the opposite end, Grimrr Halfpaw looked bored and Arya looked like she'd rather be somewhere else. She acknowledged her pupil as he approached, but returned to glaring all too soon, from which he could gather where Eragon and the Riders sat to the side of him.

Jeran, who was on one of the platforms just outside, was listening through his human's ears and watching through his eyes. Though until now, he had been fairly quiet, he offered up a wary _Good luck. _

_With our experience, do we have any reason to believe in luck?_

"Ayel Cadmonsson." Nasuada had dismissed her master of ceremonies and spoke herself. "You are called under oath. If you are aware of and accept that oath, you may remain."

He felt a little pang of nervousness at stepping forward to be judged. "I remain, Your Majesty."

"Good," she said, pleased by his cooperation, though she clearly hadn't expected any other response. "You may begin your testimony."

Startled, Ayel looked straight at her for the first time, then let his gaze drift across the table at each of them. "Aren't you going to ask me any questions?

The queen smiled. "We have a feeling you'll answer them before the fact."

"Understood." _Here we go. Warn me if I leave anything out._

_I've got your back, Small Hunter._

Taking a deep breath, he began his tale.

**Arya**

Arya had already heard the beginnings of Ayel's story, and so allowed her mind to wander as he spoke – not out of disrespect, but simply because certain people were making themselves distracting. It began when Fírnen had just awakened from his nap and contacted her.

_Saphira's doing it again, _he complained.

_Doing what, my prince?_

The emerald dragon sent her a mental image. _She's giving me that look and pawing the ground. I can't sleep and it's annoying._

She sighed. _What does she want?_

_Probably the same thing Eragon does. Look to your left._

As he spoke, Arya felt something nudge her leg under the table. Looking down, she saw a small boat woven out of grass strands, clearly made in haste. A probe reached the boundaries of her mind as she beheld it. She recognized the questing tendril and briefly looked over at Eragon, sitting behind Opheila and Beq in the corner to Ayel's right. Vaas and Astrid were even further behind him. Seeing her watching, he raised an eyebrow.

Perhaps she was tired of being angry, or perhaps she'd been annoyed into giving him a chance, but she reluctantly lowered her defenses and felt his familiar presence meld with hers. _Done ignoring me, are we? You know, that's a bad habit of yours._

_And you have a bad habit of not being able to take a hint. Besides, I _am_ supposed to be listening._

_We both know you weren't. Plus, this is the part you already know. Maybe a few minor details, but Ayel's perfectly fine with showing you the memories. It's the rest of them he doesn't want inside his head. _

_Agreed._ She was silent for an instance. _Is there something you need?_

_I rather think it's what _you _want. _When had he become so skilled a conversationalist?

_Very well; I'd like an explanation._

_Very well, _he echoed, not quite mocking her. _I can provide. _When she simply waited, he continued. _First of all, Riders have diplomatic immunity, so traveling under my own volition was no wrongdoing. I will concede that I abused my obligations to you, Orik, and Nasuada, but I'm fairly certain I had good reason. Second, someone very wise once told me, 'People in authority never seem to realize that rules and protocol aren't flexible enough when you're dealing with unique circumstances.' Or something like that. The point is, there's a great danger we weren't aware of before and it's only getting worse the longer we wait. Careful, _he warned. _Ayel's about to talk through what you haven't heard yet._

Before closing him out to listen, Arya said, _We'll see what I think of your excuses when he has finished._

_Oh, I'm sure you'll find it in your heart to forgive me. _Grimly amused, Eragon withdrew and she heard Ayel's voice pulling her back into the nature of their enemy.

And what she heard was, admittedly, starting to change her mind.

Ayel spoke clearly and slowly enough, choosing his words carefully and favoring maximum impact with an aversion to flowery language. His bluntness was refreshing, but it resulted in painting a harsh picture and he almost sounded as if he was putting them in their place. While listening all the while, Arya pieced together a tactical view of the Ruined in her mind. They appeared to be difficult to predict, track, or sense, with an unknown amount of resources and assets at their disposal. The most that anyone actually knew was their location and the identities of those with whom Ayel had made direct contact. This was troubling, but not overmuch and she worried that the true magnitude of the threat – the great danger Eragon had spoken of – was not entirely evident to her peers. In addition, they had not had the time she and Eragon shared with Ayel that allowed for belief and faith in his words, nor to look at his mind and memories. This, understandably, brewed no modest amount of uncertainty.

Without stopping the trainee (or indeed, perhaps without him noticing either) Orrin leaned over the table and subtly snatched at whoever's attention he could. "Look at the way he moves. It's like his spine is a coiled spring. He's far too ready to move with force for a warrior that wet behind the ears." He stroked his goatee, an irritating tic he'd developed. "We're missing something about this boy."

Garzvhog grunted. "And he jumps at every loud noise. There is alertness, and then there is paranoia. It may only be battle shock, but something is not right with this man-cub."

No one commented further, but this evaluation of Ayel's character and composure went on throughout his speech. When he finished, near short of breath and straightening as if a weight was off his shoulders, the councilors exchanged looks and drew out their last thoughts. Ayel himself had to check his first instincts, which were to leave the floor and seat himself with his comrades; Arya saw him shift in their direction and then stay. She couldn't help being a little proud of his self-control. For him, that was progress.

"You've spoken well, laddie," Orik volunteered to begin. "And I'm sure you believe what you say is true. But what you tell us now is that we are at the opening of a cave." He frowned into his braided beard. "We stand for the last time in the light and do not know what lies beyond, only that it is in darkness. We must make use of that light and look at our map."

The previously overwhelmed-by-tedium Grimrr absentmindedly inspected his claws. "When dealing in matters such as these, one can never be too cautious…" He fixed his feral eyes on Ayel. "…but, one can always be too hasty. These memories, this vision, they undoubtedly have a source. The question is whether that source is true event or fabrication. If the enemy held you in captivity, we know not what power they may hold over you."

"You wonder if they convinced me of this to use me as a weapon." Despite himself, Ayel visibly bristled. "I assure you I'm completely under my own power. And no matter how little we know, what we know is enough. With respect – we need action now."

"And yet, that's exactly what an agent of the Ruin would say were they endeavoring to lead us into a war of attrition," said Orrin.

It took a few seconds, clearly, for Ayel to swallow his pride and his anger to recede like crashing waves. Arya's pride swelled tenfold, but she remained silent, watching and waiting.

"Majesties." His words were halting, his eyes angled at the floor. "Do you really trust me so little?"

"We have no reason to trust or mistrust you, other than the fact that others vouch for you and our knowledge of you based on observation." Nasuada wasn't particularly calming, but she succeeded in defusing the tension. "In essence, do not take our vigilance as if we hold you in suspicion or contempt. Try to understand, young Rider. We are each responsible for a nation. If we are to keep it safe, we cannot rush headlong into peril, for wherever we walk, we bring it with us."

Ayel still did not look up. A silence descended on the room, it hung in the air in the moment before he spoke. "Aye," he said, "I do understand. For if I alone can prove the need for our joint intervention, then…" His head snapped upright, somehow staring them all in the eye at once. "I am responsible for a nation, too! Not just one, but all nations!" His fists clenched at his sides. "Take my memories if you want. If you truly fear that I've been led astray, search me and find what you will. But if any of you, for a single instant, thinks it may not be necessary, then I implore you!" Now Ayel raised his fists and his voice. "Take a chance on me!"

_Does he have to be so melodramatic? _Fírnen wondered aloud.

_If you'd really been paying attention instead of just listening when he got louder, then you wouldn't find it so strange. _Deciding now was the time to act, Arya pushed back her seat and stood, casting her voice into the far corners of the room. "I think we have heard all we need to hear, do the rest of you not?" No one answered, but she did not need them to. "It is very clear what we must do now."

"Well if you'd enlighten us instead of hinting at it, we'd be very much obliged," grumbled Orrin.

Arya smiled thinly. "We can trust him. Spend but a little time with him and you'll agree that he's entirely his own person. A double agent would have to be an impeccable actor, and it's difficult to pretend to be someone so clumsy and temperamental."

At first startled, now Ayel grinned ruefully. "Sure you're not praising me overmuch, ebrithil?"

"Or indeed someone so bold and insolent as to be this forward with the rulers of the land," she added with affection. "No, we need not force him to prove his words are true. Eragon and I have seen it, and that is enough. As for the Grand Master himself-" Eragon looked up attentively, and she glanced toward him slyly. "He can be forgiven until all this has settled down. We all owe him, at least, our consideration, and since we've chosen to believe Ayel his reasoning has proved sound."

"Lady Arya is right," growled Garzvhog. "Firesword has never failed us."

"So I'm off the hook?" asked Eragon from across the chamber, already halfway gloating if his tone was any sort of signal.

Finding no dissent, Nasuada shrugged at Arya and replied, "I guess so."

The Rider smiled in earnest. "Then we can finally get this under way. Thank you, Ayel. That will be all I ask from you today." Bowing to the assembly, the student sat and the master stood. "And I must thank all of you, for listening. However, I won't thank you for agreeing with me because that's what I believe you should have done anyway."

"Cheeky." Orik was barely holding in a chuckle. "I hope you have fast and convincing words planned, brother."

"Indeed I do." Eragon snapped his fingers and a three-dimensional plane of blue energy appeared. His obvious showmanship made Arya wrinkle her nose, but she had to admit it was a clever spell. The plane showed a scaled-down map of Alagaësia and the surrounding lands. As he spoke, it would shift and change, much like the table map in the Summit of Doru Breoaldras. "Thus far we know of but one location where Ruined presence is indefinite: Vroengard." On the map, the island was blotted out with a veil of darkness. "We also know where they've interfered so far; namely, Eoam and the plains between Hedarth and Du Fells Nángoröth." Both of these areas likewise shaded themselves. "The most definite place they will move next is Teirm." A dark blue "x" appeared over the city's marker. "Ayel and I believe that this will begin a further chain of several simultaneous attacks along the coast. By rough estimate, we place their numbers at Teirm alone at upwards of ten thousand, and that will be only a fraction of their forces." He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. "That said, it's not necessarily true that one of their soldiers is worth one of ours in any respect, and judging by our performance against them in the desert, I'd say with our current logistics, we can muster the troops to face them… if we reform the Varden."

A slight twinge of unease slid under the mood in the room. "How long do you think we have for negotiation?" asked Orrin uncomfortably.

"One tentative plan is for my Riders and I to go ahead of you all and wait there. We would help the evacuation efforts, formulate a strategy, rally the militia, et cetera. We're not sure how fast the Ruined can travel, but assuming they sail unaided by any fell magic, we can think on terms of a week or less. Likely less," he corrected himself. "I put our best roll of the knucklebones at six days." Observing the reception of his deadline, he issued a warning. "If they break Teirm, it'll be exactly as Ayel says. We only have this chance to hold the line and start a war… because if we don't hold, there will be no time to declare one."

Grimrr hissed. "You drive a hard bargain, Shadeslayer."

"Consider it the Ruined, not myself."

"Indeed." Nasuada cast her eyes around her. "I don't suppose we have much time to think on this, either. Shall we put it to a vote, all advisors and cabinets notwithstanding?"

There was no long silence that followed. It was a fairly brief pause before anyone said anything. But in that pause, time seemed to slow down and Arya felt something drawing nearer and nearer, something that set off her perimeter wards seconds after she noticed it. Her hand leapt to Támerlein on her hip, and she was already drawing it from its sheath as she stood and barked, "Eragon!" He knew what she meant, and surely felt it too, and the younger Riders had taken notice as well. No one had time to rise. That formless shape, that strange presence was so close it was almost on top of her –

The windows behind her exploded. Fírnen roared, then Saphira, and then finally a chorus of the other dragons followed. A cloud of shattered glass was swirling, some of it falling and some of it forming a tornado around a flashing column of black light. In seconds, the glass suddenly stopped and hung in the air, glittering ferociously, and at once shot out in all directions. The dark energy dispersed with a noise like a lightning strike and a group of black-garbed figures tumbled into the room. There were no more than a dozen; some of them landed behind the table, some of them on it, and most on the floor. None hesitated, and they immediately engaged the nearest targets. The Nighthawks who were present were very quick in their response, but at least two were instantly cut down. One guard who had been especially quick to react threw himself on a knife meant for Nasuada. The queen cried out, "John!" and drew a dagger from her dress. Arya let a clarion yell leave her lips and dove forward, striving to protect anyone she could. No wards would save them against these enemies, and a surprise assault could end very badly very fast.

Eragon was fighting his way through the group on the floor and gave a shout. "Ra'zac! There are two – don't let them escape!" At almost the same time, two of the black-garbed assailants had broken off from the fighting and made for the window. Arya chased after them and looked behind her as she ran.

In the melee, Ayel somehow looked up and saw what she was doing. "Wait!" He turned to the man he was dueling. "Opheila, switch!" Almost flawlessly, the brown-haired girl swept him aside and traded blows with his opponent, allowing him to break free and dash to reach Arya. The two of them jumped, whistling for Jeran and Fírnen. The dragons heard and dove from the platforms above. The wind rushed in Arya's ears, and she did not fear the rooftops below because her prince would be there to catch her. When he appeared beneath her, she landed hard in the saddle and grabbed hold, thrown back as he beat his wings furiously to make headway above the city. The Ra'zac were two black points leaping from building to building not far away. It was a ten-second distance for a dragon, but in that time Jeran still managed to pull ahead. The topaz dragon screamed toward the roof they were running across and crash-landed, skidding to a stop and throwing clay shingles into the air. Arya sprang from Fírnen's back just as Ayel dismounted and began to sprint the length of the roof, sword in hand. She had no intention of him taking on the two of them alone.

_Hold a moment. _Fírnen said urgently. _The Ra'zac don't have any intention of that either. Are they leading any pursuers into a trap or are they simply trying to escape?_ _It isn't like their kind to run, but then, they must have realized their ambush was no use when the fighters in the council chamber defended themselves so quickly and effectively._ Arya felt a shock shoot up her legs as she rolled on impact with the tiles, but it didn't stop her and she drew level with Ayel just as their quarry reached the end of the roof. She called in the ancient language, "Stop there, flesh eaters!" but was paid no heed.

One of the Ra'zac hissed and the other formed a complex sign with its claws. A flash of light blinded them Riders for a split second, and Arya forced her eyes open only to see what she thought was a giant gemstone appear in front of the pair of escapees. The same column of black that had brought them ripped forth from its contours and in a moment, the invisible lightning struck and they were gone.

Ayel kept moving forward, but halted at the edge of the rain gutter. "Damn it!" Lashing out with his free hand, he slammed his fist into the chimney nearby. His anger prevented him from flinching, but Arya saw blood oozing from between his knuckles.

"That was foolish. Here I thought you'd been doing a fine job of controlling your emotions this morning."

"Well, what did you expect me to do?" He snarled. "They just show themselves out of nowhere, kill a few people and then leave? How have they already infiltrated?" Frustrated, the boy kicked at a loose shingle, sending it flying.

Arya's eyes narrowed. "It may be that they haven't infiltrated at all. That crystal could store a large amount of energy – an amount that could allow a group of invaders to teleport a great distance away, and with the assistance of Ruin the magic would ignore conventional entry wards. It's a wonder they triggered our sensor webs at all."

"Crystal?" Ayel furrowed his brow, inspected his torn hand, and then looked up in sudden revelation. "There's some sort of magical anomaly at Eoam with a floating crystal, isn't there? They went to the Hadarac for a tactical advantage; maybe that's why master mentioned they've been to Eoam, too." Then his face lost all color. "How many people do you think that could bring from one place to another?"

"I'm not certain," Arya said, "but I'd wager the Ruined high command simply desired to find out. They can obviously travel here, so Teirm is well within range, and we didn't sense their arrival until near the last minute. If its capacity proves greater than those assassins, then we will be sorely outmatched. The kind of mobility that promises for an army is frightening." Fírnen drifted over to her and she climbed into the saddle again. "I don't doubt they're all safe, but we should get back to the others. And heal your hand."

"I'm fine," he argued, pulling himself onto Jeran's back.

"If you don't, I'll tell Beq. I'm sure he'd be very interested after the lecture you gave him. Or better yet," she pressed, enjoying how she could already see she was getting to him. "I'll tell Astrid and she can mother you all evening. And Opheila will surely appreciate-"

"Waíse heill!" A few seconds of light surrounded his fist, and then the blood and strips of dead skin were gone. He glared up at her. "Happy now?"

She smiled, despite the circumstances and the recent ill news. "That is much better. You may be able to beat around the bush with Eragon, but with me bravado won't get you far: I know all the right threats to make." Just as quickly, she was serious again. "Now, let us go back."

They flew quickly and quietly.

**Eragon**

"Opheila, switch!" Ayel's voice rang out, and Opheila crossed in front of Eragon to get to him. In doing so, she put him in a position where if he didn't backpedal, he'd soon have a sword tip in his ear.

The Grand Master employed all the most adroit footwork he could, but ended up tripping over a body and, though he caught himself as he fell, it was with the hand holding Brisingr and the blade closing in on him from above was not stopped. Just as he would have tried to kick his attacker's legs out from under them, an arc of soot black smashed into them and knocked them into the wall, likely knocking the life out of them as well. The arc slowed and it was the greatsword wielded by his new favorite student. Vaas fanged a grin at him. "Watch your step, ebrithil. The building's gone through a recent remodeling."

"More like destruction than construction. I liked those windows," Eragon griped, standing up. Luckily, the battle seemed to have settled down and the sound of sword against sword was no longer echoing throughout the stone walls. "Is everyone all right?" he shouted, making his way to the table.

"None of us are harmed, but two of the Nighthawks fell," Orrin called. He held a bloodied rapier and was kneeling over the body of and armored man. "This one's dead. Nasuada, do you recognize him?"

"No," she said sadly. "But this man over here is still living." She looked to the Riders. "Can one of you help him?"

Astrid moved faster than anyone else, and faster than anyone had ever seen her move. "Out of my way, please! Let me see to him!" She ran forward, clutching at her skirts, and crouched next to the queen. "Can you hear me?"

The injured Nighthawk groaned. "I think so." It was the voice of Sir John, who must have fallen on a sword-stroke when Nasuada had said his name earlier.

The dwarven girl almost laughed. "How do you feel right now?" She was already moving to cast a spell, but the patter had a purpose; it was to keep the patient focused and their grip on life sound. _She's already an excellent combat medic._

_And she's the strongest in magic, barring Opheila only, _added Saphira. _I think our Astrid may have found her calling._

Sir John chuckled, which made an unpleasant gurgling noise that suggested there was blood involved in its formation. "I'm feeling pretty dead, because I'm surrounded by angels."

Nasuada and Astrid both laughed then. Eragon heard Beq stir behind him and mutter something like, "She's _seventeen_."

While Astrid tended to John, Eragon walked across the line of windows, peering out over the skyline. Saphira had taken flight and was returning to the tower. Trailing after her were two dots of color – Jeran and Fírnen. He wished he could have gone after the Ra'zac himself, but he'd been too preoccupied with the close-quarters on the ground level. Once Arya was within range, he opened his mind to her and she shared that yes, she and Ayel were both unhurt, but their targets had escaped also. She didn't elaborate until the two of them landed outside and dismounted, stepping carefully over the broken window frames. Ayel was avoiding anyone's eyes, but whatever had humbled him remained a mystery. Arya herself strode in and walked straight into the middle of the amphitheater, where the Nighthawks were dragging corpses out of the way.

"We chased the Ra'zac to the market district, where they summoned an assist talisman and teleported themselves away." A murmur spread through the room. "That must be how they got here also. On the good side, we need not worry about being compromised, but on the bad side, we know not the extent of their ability to transport their forces this quickly."

Curious, though he already had a hunch, Eragon caught her attention. "What kind of 'assist talisman' did they use?"

"I think it may be the-"

The main doors burst open and a red-faced page ran through them, accompanied by a fresh batch of guards. He caught his breath and straightened for his report. "Your Majesties, Shadeslayer, we've received a message from Surda. The city of Eoam has been sacked and looted, including the-"

"-crystal," said the page, Arya, and Eragon all at once. When the former looked confused, the latter two explained, "We know."

"This is bad," said Ayel.

Opheila, who had made her way next to him, smirked. "That's an understatement. So they can teleport now?" She paused, then asked him more quietly, "What happened to your hand?"

"Huh? How do you know anything happened to it?"

"Phantom pain. You keep cradling it; don't you remember our first lesson? So what'd you do?"

Ignoring their continued conversation, Eragon crossed to where Arya stood and from there regarded the council, who had picked themselves up. Nasuada softly thanked Astrid and stood shakily.

"If we're all prepared to pick up where we left off," he said tentatively. "I believe we were about to vote."

Garzvhog was looming over Vaas and Orik. "The votes are cast. The threat is evident. We go to war."

"Yes, that's fantastic and all that," said Grimrr. He rounded on Ayel. "It is a fishing village we're liberating, right?"

"Er, yes, Your Cattiness… Highness. Sir," the boy stammered.

Orik laughed, and then trotted over to Eragon. "Volund's edges always need sanding."

"Then you'll all drag me into this like always, so I'm agreeing before I'm last." Orrin sheathed his sword. "After all, it is our region that's been attacked."

Nasuada retook her seat, a victorious light in her eyes. "Then let us consider the Varden formed once more. Shall we have breakfast brought to us? I expect our plans will take a while." _She was hoping for this all along! All that caution and hesitation was just an act!_

_You couldn't tell? _teased Saphira. _I could._

_I don't believe you. _

_It was all part of our cunning plan. Nasuada and I, we had everyone fooled._

_Nasuada had everyone fooled. You were asleep._

As they sat, Arya whispered into his ear, "We should speak after this."

"You're not still angry, are you?"

She smiled lazily. "I suspect you'll find out."


	21. Nineteen: Devil May Care

**Hey, two in a month... barely. Sorry - finals suck. Please notify me of any errors in the chapter, and otherwise enjoy.**

**Chapter Nineteen: Devil May Care**

**Ayel**

_Will you stop fussing?_

_Will _you _stop squirming? _Ayel dropped his hands. _If I have to retie these saddle bags one more time…_

_Well, they chafe._

_You are covered from claw to snout in scales thicker than plate armor, Jeran! _Frantic fingers worked a knot. _The real concern is if these should move or come loose while we fly. You go so fast that the hitches Eragon taught us don't hold up. I've had to come up with my ace._

Smoke trailed from the dragon's nostrils. _Which would be?_

_That sailing knot that I told you about… that I made up, when I was six._

_Wow. Impressive._

_Big talk coming from an overgrown lizard without opposable thumbs._

_Oh, yeah? Come over by my teeth and say tha– Oh, hi, Opheila._

"Having some difficulty, Sparky?"

"Aah!" As Opheila's face appeared over his shoulder, Ayel jumped, lost his grip on the saddle bag strings, stumbled back, tripped over a slop bucket, and fell to the floor of the stables just as the contents of the bags spilled out, hitting him everywhere they could bruise. He rolled to the side athletically to avoid only the last item, a scrap of parchment.

His visitor peered down at him. "A little jumpy, aren't we?" She was smiling. "You alright?"

"I was until you came along," he grumbled, getting to his feet. "Help me clean this up."

"It's not _that_ bad of a mess." She didn't move.

Jeran snorted. _Oh, boy. I actually don't mind having to sit here even longer now, since I get to watch you two snipe at each other._

From where he was kneeling, Ayel fired back immediately. "There's a very clear shot I have to that nerve cluster that paralyzes your tail, you know."

"You're cranky this morning," noted Opheila.

"And why can't I be?"

"Because I want to talk to you about something. Two things, really."

He sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. What?"

As she spoke, she walked closer but still didn't bend to help him tidy up. "Why would the Ruined give their teleportation away like that? If they wanted to test its capability, they could have done somewhere more discreet. It seems like they risked their forces and their greatest tactical secret for naught."

"Well," Ayel said tersely. "Maybe even the Ra'zac are expendable, and the teleportation spell _isn't _their greatest tactical secret." Finally, he pulled the bags' drawstrings shut and was able to stand. "Though, that thought may not be excellent for morale."

"Hmm," she mused, a slight too assuredly.

His eyes narrowed, aggravated. "If you've already figured this out or discussed it with someone else, why pick my brains about it?"

Opheila ignored him. "Here's what I think: I think the Ruined _have_ already infiltrated, unlike what we assumed yesterday, and Eragon was lucky to be unexpected. If we hadn't been there, there may have been few to no survivors and their secret would be kept by corpses. Although, they underestimated Arya and Fírnen, of course – no doubt those two would survive, and they could probably have taken the Ra'zac alone… it's just a matter of who they'd be able to save," she finished thoughtfully.

"Huh." Ayel had to admit, she was brilliant. "There's a reason if you want one."

Silence passed as he didn't deign to elaborate, busying himself with the saddle's straps.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked suddenly.

"No," the youth ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired and frustrated with just about everything possible – these blasted bags, the flashbacks, yesterday, all that. I shouldn't snap."

To end his distraction, her hand shot out and smacked his away from the buckle he'd been working loose. "Good, because I'm a little angry with you."

"What?" Now he looked directly at her, defensive. "Why in hell?"

"You're far too reckless." her blue eyes flashed. "For one thing, we agreed that the switch is a strategy-based move suited to a single opponent. You counter, I attack, or vice versa. On the fly like that, in a room full of enemies, we were fortunate it worked as well as it did! What if I hadn't been able to reach you in time? And I nearly killed Eragon doing it; if Vaas hadn't been so quick he might have been seriously hurt!"

Ayel tensed. "Okay, well, was I supposed to stand there and watch as Arya went after them by herself when I had an opening?"

"They can take care of themselves," she argued. "I suppose for caution's sake, you're right, but any of us could have gone with them!"

"But none of us should have gone with them - is that what you're saying?"

Irritated by his flippancy, Opheila jabbed a finger at him. "What if the Lethrblaka had been there? What if they'd teleported all four of you with them to Vroengard? I know your own safety isn't a concern to you for some reason, but you would have only gotten in Arya and Fírnen's way. And what about Jeran? He's never hesitated to plunge headfirst into danger with you, but did you think for a second what kind of repercussions that could bring up later? You're a bad influence on him; he's young and impressionable."

_Hey now, leave me out of this, _said Jeran weakly.

"No, _you _back me up, you lazy lump! I'm trying to talk some sense into your Rider!"

"And you've done a great job of insulting us both in the process," Ayel pointed out. "Look, we don't have to fight about this. There isn't any point in carrying on when nothing actually went wrong."

"Oh, really?" She laughed. "There are a million different scenarios that could have played out during that attack and it is sheer – dumb - luck," Her extended finger poked him in the chest. "That what actually did happen left all of us in one piece. If we're fighting this war, you need to wake up, straighten up and start making choices that are _thought through_." Ayel had begun to back away and she advanced on him, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Of course _nothing actually went wrong_. Now, next time, maybe something _will_. That's why I'm telling you right now, we can't be charging in headlong like that when we don't have a plan!" His back hit the side of a stall and she stopped just shy of him, uncomfortably close. "For some reason, the rest of us let you drag us around and are okay with Eragon putting you in charge sometimes, so with that kind of responsibility? You. Have. To. Be. Careful."

After a brief moment in which Ayel shifted uneasily against the wall and Jeran made a whining sort of growl in his throat, Opheila moved almost imperceptibly, indicating she might have been about to back off. Seeing his chance, he started to step back toward her. "I-"

"And then you _punched_ a _chimney_?" Driving him up to the wall again, she threw her hands into the air. "Just because we can heal ourselves doesn't make us invincible! I swear, you're going to knock your head into something even thicker than that skull of yours and if Astrid or I aren't there to patch you up, then you can cry me a river."

"I was perfectly capable of healing myself!" he managed to get a word in edgeways.

Now he was provoking her. Opheila's face was reddening and she positively shook with fury. "But it won't always be like that! That's what I'm saying!"

"Fine!" He nodded, too fast. "Fine. Then you overthink and plan for every little detail, and I'll improvise, and we can agree to disagree!"

"Not when 'agreeing to disagree' means letting you strut around thinking you can take unnecessary risks anytime you want! Throwing caution to the wind can and will cause unimaginable damage. What about those nations you're responsible for, huh?" She glared at him. "What about the people who are depending on you? What about me and the rest of us fighting next to you?"

"You care about this an awful lot," he observed.

Behind him, Jeran muttered, _Oh, that'll help things._

Opheila's expression turned cold. "Of course I _care_, you imbecile. Ask any of us and we'll all say the same thing. We can't work together if we're not on the same page. As for me, maybe I do care beyond that. Because we're _friends_."

Ayel regarded her with what seemed like an inkling of clarity for the first time. "Is that what this is? Because we're friends?"

"Really?" She glowered, eyes boring into him. "After what we've been through, and what we're no doubt going to go through, what do you think?"

"I didn't mean any less than that," he corrected quietly. "You just got kind of passionate there, is all."

Her frown faded and halfway softened, but contorted as she tried to stay angry. "Well… well if you don't get it, we're sorting this out right now."

"You're throwing that word around a lot: we." Stepping aside so she was no longer cornering him, Ayel went back over to Jeran. "I thiink first 'we' need to decide what 'we' mean when 'we' say 'we', Blue Jay. Besides, I'm sure you can find another reason to argue with me. You owe it to yourself, judging by how much you like it."

"Excuse me?" She trailed after him, clearly disliking the turning of the tables. "If I like arguing then you do, too, since you won't shut up."

"I hardly said anything while you were bawling me out."

"Well, you said enough."

He shot her a look. "You and I have very different definitions of 'enough'. Anyway, you cut surprisingly deep. So while I'll give you due credit, I'll also ask you to finish up, since I can only take so much scolding in one day. If you're still keen on it, we can look at the definition of 'we' later."

"Ugh." Appearing to have calmed down, Opheila went to the doors. "Look at you. You've got me all mixed up. I don't know if I'm really angry or-" she broke off. "My point is, you're a loose cannon, Cadmonsson. Sooner or later, you'll realize that when you risk yourself, you take other people and their feelings, maybe even their lives as well, with you." Now she opened them. "Come and find me when you're ready to listen to reason, because we're not done."

Ayel struggled, but he literally could not bite back a sarcastic remark. "Oh, have you figured out this mysterious concept of 'we' already?"

And just like that, the color returned to her face, she turned, and she spit fire at him. "You idiot – why do you think I want to continue this godsforsaken CONVERSATION?"

"So it's not an argument by your definition?"

"Aaargh!" Opheila stormed out of the stables, slamming the doors so hard they rattled the roof.

_Why'd you antagonize her like that? _Jeran asked reproachfully. _You know you only made it worse._

_I know, I know. I'm sorry, okay? It was just… reflex._

_You do this every time the two of you fight. Learn a lesson much?_

_Oh, step off._

Someone rapped on the door sharply. Ayel crossed the space in between and opened it. "Back for more so soon…oh. Morning, Vaas." He hesitated. "How much did you hear of, um, that?"

"Think back to when you two got loud and you'll know," answered the Urgal. "Come on. I was about to go see if Arya's done with Eragon yet. We have to go soon and he still hasn't told us who'll be coming with us."

_Fine by me. That stable's musty and the rats were mocking me. _Jeran shook his wings and padded through the archway ahead of the two Riders. Walking briskly to keep up with his giant counterparts' long strides, Ayel came after them, kicking up fine dust on the road.

Buildings were no more than one or two stories here in the east district, near the outskirts of the city. The only real reason the Riders had moved here was its position closest to the path to Teirm and the fact that Illirea's garrison had several barracks there. Today the sun was reaching its zenith rather early, and the sky was pockmarked with billowing white clouds. It hurt to look upwards, so Ayel cast his eyes on the city around them.

They were an odd bunch – a human, a dragon, and a Kull, walking side by side through the streets. People wouldn't stare for long, but there was still an unhealthy feeling of too many eyes on his back. He remembered Opheila's words about the Ruined possibly having infiltrated, contrary to popular belief amongst the council, and looked around warily.

Vaas spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "So. Back there, that got ugly fast, eh?"

"Do you agree with her?" Ayel asked abruptly. "I mean, would you say the same thing if I forced it out of you?"

"Yes." A shrug. "But, I'm not as overbearing about it as she is, or as concerned for you; out of respect, I like to think you can care for yourself. One warrior to another."

"…Thanks." the boy breathed out of his nose exasperated. "I just-"

"We're not all of us warriors at the core, though," he continued. "Not even me. We're just kids, Ayel. Not even Eragon is twenty yet, though as he keeps reminding us, he will be soon. So, we have to look out for each other and some of us are bound to worry. If it was just about you being hotheaded, we'd have intervened and told you all together. Really, that's only part of the problem… at least, until you do something really, _really_ stupid."

Despite himself, Ayel grinned dryly. "Thanks for being so confident in me."

The Kull flicked him on the forehead, which almost knocked him off his feet. "The problem is that you're careless. It's nothing yet – it's not that big of a deal. We just haven't had to opportunity to make any real mistakes yet, so we don't know. However, if something bad should happen and it could have been stopped by her yelling at you like that or me talking to you like this, I'd prefer it that way.

"I don't have an issue with you bull-rushing in combat, at least when you know what you're doing. Beq sure as hell doesn't. Astrid won't like it too much, but she thinks she understands you and why you do it. Opheila, she doesn't get it. And if _you_ don't get why that is, then you've got nothing between your ears." He smacked a fist into his palm. "Two members of our team are always having rows. Recently, they raised hell over one of them being addicted to adrenaline and the other not wanting this rogue to hurt himself. Even with the best intentions, the two of them always end up at each other's throats."

"Why are you talking about us in the third person?" Ayel squinted up at him.

"Because, _drajl_, I'm not asking what Ayel "Suicidal Bastard" Cadmonsson and Opheila "Allergic to Bullshit" Mavrasdaughter would do. I'm asking what our de facto leader would do. Someone," he looked down at him pointedly, "who woke up, straightened up, decided to be a man, and toned himself back for the sake of his comrades. What would that stranger do?"

The words pulled up images in Ayel's mind. Arya, Nasuada, Eragon, and then – with a feeling of trepidation – his own father. What Vaas was saying must have been what they had been forced to do. And now, was he to follow them?

_I don't want to lead._

_Then don't. _Jeran was oddly calm. _Move forward and simply allow others to follow behind you._

Facing forward, Ayel picked up speed a little. "Alright. We'll talk it out. After all, the four of us can't work together if we're not all on the same page."

"Sure." Vaas looked satisfied. "You're a good kid, Ayel."

"You're barely three years older than me."

"Well, I'm mature. And responsible. And look what that's achieved, eh? You realize now Opheila was right all along, 'cause I told it to you straight. The difference between her and me is I've made up my mind about you. I'll kill for you, and hell, I might even die for you if I feel like it, since – as you and Beq said when you were practically exchanging promise rings a while back – you'd do it for me. But I will not stand by and watch you run into the arms of death. Or act like an ass to a girl who can't help getting pissed off at you." He rolled his shoulders back as they walked. "As long as you know that having us at your back comes at a price, I have no problem letting you take point."

Ayel's voice was low, pensive. "Thanks, Vaas."

"Don't mention it. Run with me, constructive criticism comes free. But for what it's worth, you wouldn't make a bad leader and you have a right to your own life, too."

"Yeah, whatever that entails." The boy laughed. "Now I just have to placate a very angry Opheila and do the whole I'm-Ayel-and-I-was-wrong thing. Again."

A toothy grin spread across the Urgal's face. "I think you're the only one of us who's done that more than twice. Pick your civilian audience carefully, my friend – I'd wait until we're away from the busiest markets and taverns if I were you. That dance is sure to make a few people laugh hard enough to pop a lung." He looked up suddenly. "Oh. We're here."

Ayel stopped with him as Jeran sniffed at the curb. A meeting house, two stories with a conical steeple, stood in front of them a few feet back from the road. As they lingered, one of the doors opened and a man stepped out.

It took them a few seconds to recognize Eragon.

"Gods above and demons below…" said Ayel, covering his mouth.

Just then, Vaas threw back his head and laughed, his mirth echoing through the city.

Arya had cut Eragon's hair.


	22. Twenty: Resolve

**Okay, This took a while, and it's a little different from my other chapters - time skips and all that. It just... fell onto the page in the order it's in, and I couldn't break it up and put it chronologically without messing up the flow. Anyway, this is a great chapter for the fans. I think you'll see why as you read, or maybe just looking at the POV marker, because Beq has really become an Ensemble Dark Horse.**

**Thanks f****or reading!**

**Chapter Twenty: Resolve**

**Beq**

Being made of Brightsteel, the katar's violet blade would never need to be sharpened. However, old habits die hard, and Beq was dragging a whetstone across it anyway. Partially because he was bored, and partially because it kept him sane either way.

The elven bladesmith had reinforced the apex, regardless of its practical unbreakability, and swapped out the H-shaped hilt of his original weapon with one made of sanded iron and gold leaf, reused from the Rider's sword its blade had come from as well. Aside from the vexingly flamboyant dual cross-grip, the only other remnant of the old sword was a hilt extension embellished with a seated tiger. "That beast is like you," Rhunön had told Naroki. "Fast and deadly."

She'd also told Beq to stop slouching and listen to his elders.

He frowned. While he didn't like needless anger, the truth was the memory annoyed him. In fact, his earliest memory was one in which he'd been angry. A moment later, he shrugged. The scraping of the rock and methodical work allowed him to sit unperturbed, and almost pensive even while dwelling on the past. What was it Eragon had said? Something about "Mind the future, remember the past, _be_ the moment."

Beq had a hard time being the moment.

For example, he'd forgotten he was sitting on a knoll, leaning against Naroki's flank in the fields outside a marketplace at the fringes of the outer city. He didn't remember until she snorted and shifted in her sleep. That was usually the cost of focusing too hard; what he couldn't see didn't exist.

Still, he much preferred hardline focus to paying attention to too much at once and coming off as paranoid and twitchy, like Ayel could be sometimes. Or passing every detail through analysis and constant debate, like Opheila. Those two were a match made by Gokukara… if she didn't decapitate him first for being an idiot. Of course, Beq would never say anything, because the one time he _had_ – a night ago in the tavern with Vaas – the Urgal had responded with open-mouthed shock and said "When _Beq_ can see it, there's a problem." Which started an argument about apparent "antisocial tendencies" and led to Vaas bringing up the subject of Astrid.

And Beq eventually punching Vaas in the nose.

Luckily, Vaas didn't mind because he was too drunk for it to hurt and Beq ended up breaking two fingers. And of course Astrid, whose fault it was in the first place, was nowhere to be seen the ONE TIME he actually _wanted_ her to heal something of his.

He'd slept with a splint and asked her the morning of Ayel's hearing, and she healed him obligingly, giving him that pitying look. But instead of being sickened by it, Beq was just grateful. His fingers had hurt like hell.

Because the gods had decided to cock up his life one more time and he couldn't perform a healing spell for a bucket of apples.

No matter how many times he growled, "Waíse heill," nothing happened. Sometimes, he couldn't even say the words at all. Like his leg, which had caught a poleax in the desert and bled him dry clear to the barrows underneath Du Fells Nángoröth, which led to that self-righteous bastard Ayel suddenly deciding to give a shit because now Beq was his problem for some reason. As if Astrid wasn't enough; she was the only one he'd told about it, and at his behest she kept his failings secret. For now at least.

Speaking of Astrid, footsteps were smoothing the grass nearby and the walker could only have been a dwarf. He could also sense whose mind it was, so that helped too. But magical observation came second, with some effort. His ears came first.

"Did you know that certain herbs used in common medicine can also act as catalysts in healing spells?" Her voice was soft and colloquial, and seemed to loosen the muscles of his back as it hit him. Without looking back, he continued sharpening his katar until she sat down next to him, Ragnar padding past them and rolling in the grass where some fireweed was growing. "At least, that's what Qai told me. They can do anything from simply reducing the energy to increasing the potency of one aspect of the spell. The elves refer to it as 'sage magic' and it's only used by a handful of their healers." She smoothed the wrinkles in her kirtle and studied a batch of weeds cradled in her lap. "He seemed to think I'd have some luck if I tried it, but I thought maybe… one of these could help you, too."

If Beq was prone to that kind of sissy emotion, he might have been somewhere near touched. What came out was between irritation and veiled interest. The movement of the whetstone stopped and he looked at her with peripheral vision. "You think?"

"Well," she said uncertainly. "Qai told me all the properties of these plants we picked, and I'm not sure what will do what for whom until we've tried them in an actual healing, but I don't think there's any harm in looking into it." Astrid regarded him with mild worry, her brown eyes as plaintive as a puppy's. Her white-blond hair was trying to fly away in the breeze.

"Huh." Resigned to some semblance of a conversation, Beq sheathed the weapon and pocketed the stone. A sardonic half-smirk pushed up the corner of his mouth. "You positive people are really rays of sunshine."

A huff. "Optimism isn't a bad thing. Not always." When he didn't answer, she folded her arms. "And how many times have we had that discussion anyway?"

Beq shrugged. "I don't actually give a damn anymore; I see your point. I just think it's fun how I can get to you as easily as Ayel can get to Opheila." She was silent, but squirmed uncomfortably. "Don't tell me those two had a tiff again. The morning we leave? Really?"

Astrid nodded. "Vaas just talked to me with telepathy. We missed Ayel doing the Dance of Remorse."

A rare chuckle. "I'm sorry I did. Then again, watching those two go at it always makes me feel like I'm intruding on something." He fidgeted. "Always makes me nervous for if and when Vaas takes a liking to some dam in one of the villages we're bound to stop over."

She snap-turned to him blankly. "He won't."

"Shouldn't you have a little more optimism?"

"Vaas won't meet a _dam_," the dwarven girl stressed.

For the first time today, Beq's eyes met hers. "What?"

"You heard me."

He blinked. "I had no idea. Who knew before me?"

"I did, because he told me and Opheila when we asked him. We just… figured it out." She paused. "I'm not sure if it's occurred to Ayel yet."

Beq grunted. "Not much does."

She elbowed him. "Hey."

"Sorry." He stretched. "Well, no one's going to come after Vaas for it; he's a nine hundred pound Kull." Then added, "Plus, if he's not being struck by lightning right now, what god is going to stand in his way?"

"Hmm," Astrid said happily. "I'm proud of you."

He didn't like to show it off, but Beq liked when he gave her a reason to be.

**Earlier**

**Eragon**

Eragon got a rocky start to his day.

The Hope of the Riders, Shadeslayer, Kingkiller, Heir of Kuthian, and Grand Master of the Order had awoken to a very amused she-elf holding a hank of dark brown hair. It took him a moment to realize said hair had once been attached to his head. This realization hit him when he saw the contents of her other hand: a knife that looked very familiar; he could have sworn Opheila had been carrying one just like it around for a while… _oh_.

The next thing he heard was Saphira in his mind saying, _I wouldn't have let her do it if I didn't agree with the need for it._

_And if you didn't, you would still have been asleep, too, anyway, _added Fírnen.

And so, he'd looked up at Arya and simply said, "Why?"

"Partway as punishment and partway as a favor. I'd noticed Ayel cleaned up and you were starting to look even scruffier by comparison."

"Who's scruffy-looking?" Eragon demanded in mock indignation. "I'd been meaning to cut it soon anyway," he casually tried to convince both her and himself.

She shook her head, glistening black swaying across her shoulders. "You always find a bright side, is that what you're trying to put forth?"

"And if I don't, Astrid finds it for me." He sat up and searched for his mail shirt, pulling it on followed by a cream-colored tunic. Combined with his pants, greaves, and dark green cloak, he was dressed to kill, travel, and most importantly – look fabulous while doing so. He had no questions as to why the outfit had been laid out in just that combination; he suspected Arya was trying to teach him how to dress, too. Deciding he didn't mind all that much, he went to the door of the room and opened it, letting light stain the floor and walls. "Coming?"

Her black leathers made her blend in with the shadows as she moved, and before he knew it she was right next to him. "You're not going to fight me on this one?"

Eragon sighed. "No, because I know I deserved worse and I'm trying my best to appreciate the gesture because I want us to be on the same side right now, especially with five pubescent teenagers and five more rowdy dragons to wrangle."

Arya laughed softly. "Here I thought I'd be disappointed when I didn't get a rise out of you." But then she set her mouth in a line.

Fírnen voiced what must have been her thoughts. _Speaking of the ten hatchlings, and about what we discussed last night…_

"I know," he said. "I don't like it either. But I don't trust anyone else with the Eldunarya, even if it is Angela bringing them all this way, and with you in Ellesméra, I just can't see how anyone can accompany them. And if Murtagh could be close by, and on his way… I have to stay here."

"It only feels like we're playing right into Ayel's vision," she said, discomfited.

Placing a hand on hers, Eragon caught her gaze. "Look," he said. "Six days. You muster your armies, we muster ours, and the kids go ahead of us. Then, we march. You and I can fly ahead and meet them at Teirm on the fifth. Even if the Varden can't make it in time, the six – or seven – of us plus the mercenaries' guild can probably hold the Ruined off until they do."

Arya breathed out. "I do not like this plan." She looked at him with pain in her eyes. "With so much that could go wrong, I would not send these children, who even feel like _our_ children, into death so pragmatically."

_Neither would we,_ Saphira said gently. _We hate it, too, but the way things are looking, we may have to risk it and hope for the best._

"That never worked against Galbatorix," she said with a halfhearted smile.

"I killed him, didn't I? Besides, with even a single Eldunarí each the group of us could pick up Helgrind by its roots. I don't have much love for using them as weapons, but they like to do their part… and we need all the help we can get."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Ayel and Vaas, who took one look at Eragon's hair and completely derailed the mood with an unnecessary amount of laughter.

"Yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball," said Eragon to the hairier of his two laughing trainees. "I see Jeran; where's Ithros?"

The dragon's scales refracted some of the light, seeming to glow an orangeish-gold like the Imperial Topaz jewels he'd seen in Nasuada's treasuries. _Let me see – hm. Uh oh. He's stumbled into a cow pasture just outside the city and… well… _

_We'll handle it, _said Saphira and Fírnen at once, and took wing from atop the house.

"Make sure he doesn't eat any more than he already has!" Vaas warned the wind behind them, and then muttered, "Glutton."

Ayel shrugged. "How do you think he got so big?"

"Possibly being bonded to a Kull."

The boy sighed. "Arya, is literalism a virtue? Because the only one I know of is patience, and mine is looking a little sketchy right about now."

_Trouble in paradise,_ Jeran explained helpfully.

"Great," Eragon deadpanned. "Well, we really don't have time for bickering, because once we have you all together I'm going to tell you how transportation to and from Teirm is going to be handled."

Suddenly seeing Opheila and Thera on the edge of the plaza, Vaas nudged his counterpart. "There she is. Time to do the dance."

Ayel grumbled and walked a few steps toward center stage.

"Oh no," said Eragon, and he covered his eyes, wishing he had two more hands to do the same to his ears.

"What is this?" Arya asked, clearly confused.

"They do this weird… dance… sometimes, it's very odd and I think they have some private joke attached to it."

Vaas spoke up. "Well, during early training, we all got together and agreed on this thing we call the Dance of Remorse." He was trying not to laugh as he spoke. "Basically, if two or more of us cause some kind of argument that gets in the way of our lessons and the like, and someone was clearly wrong, or they just started a fight about nothing, then the next time they see their opponent they apologize by subjecting themselves to the dance." Now he didn't conceal his giggling. "Ayel is the only one who has done the dance more than twice."

Though Eragon could not see, he could tell how far away Ayel was because the boy bellowed like an Urgal war horn.

"MY NAME IS AYEL CADMONSSON, AND I HAVE MOST SPITEFULLY AND SHAMEFULLY WRONGED ONE OF MY COLLEAGUES!" His voice carried over the square. "AS PENANCE FOR SO DOING, I SHALL NOW COMMENCE THE DANCE OF REMORSE AND ITS ACCOMPANYING MUSICAL ARRANGEMENT, SUNG WITH MUCH HUMILITY AND REGRET!"

Opheila said, "This should be good."

**Later**

**Opheila**

Part of her didn't want to interrupt Astrid, since she obviously had worked hard to get Beq to say this many words, but part of her also knew she wanted to talk to the dwarven girl and they all had to meet Eragon soon anyway.

"Hey, you two. Should've been there, Ayel didn't even try to weasel his way out of doing the splits this time." She sat down next to Astrid and looked at them both. "Anyway, we're wanted. Arya whipped master into shape, and now he's organized something for us to do in Teirm."

"Are they not coming with us or something?" Astrid asked, concerned.

"Not right away. He'll fill us in when we get back to the group." She turned to the sleeping Naroki, and to where Ragnar was still romping in the fireweed. "Might want to get these two on board."

Then Beq asked entirely out of the blue, "So, you knew Vaas is gay?"

"You're still back on that page?" said the blonde, exasperated.

"Where did that come from – oh, Astrid must have told you. Yes, I knew."

"Does Ayel know?"

Opheila nodded. "He told me he knew the third day of training when Vaas criticized the outfit he was wearing in a ridiculous amount of detail." She thought for a second. "Though if it's Vaas who taught him to dress, I'm not complaining. He has better taste in color than poor Eragon, at least."

"…huh." The dark boy stood. "Guess being the last one to find out is what I get for having 'antisocial tendencies'." He rapped on Naroki's flank, and the dragoness opened one eye. "Let's go, drowsy."

_Don't wanna, _she whined.

"Ragnar! We're leaving!" Astrid called. The brown dragon looked up and came galumphing up to the knoll.

_C'mon, Naroki! Isn't it a great day? Everything's just great! _

_ …__I hope you come down soon so you feel the pain when I claw you._

Her two companions mounted their dragons, and then hesitated before takeoff. "Is Thera nearby?" Astrid asked hopefully. "If not, you can sit with one of us."

"No, thanks." Opheila smiled wryly. "I've got a ride."

Jeran almost crushed her when he landed. _Hi, again!_

"Are you trying to kill her, you useless reptile?" Ayel grated at his partner. "I swear, after Thera was so compliant about letting us take her back, you barely avoid turning her into a grease spot on the road!"

She raised an eyebrow, gazing up at him dubiously. "A grease spot?"

"Mind, a very generous and accommodating grease spot," he corrected hastily.

"And?"

"And good-looking, and intelligent, and I don't deserve her forgiveness, let alone her friendship!" He choked out hurriedly.

Opheila's threatening expression settled into a lazy grin. "That's better." She walked over to Jeran and he bent a foreleg.

_Your staircase, my lady._

Ayel gave her a hand up, and she swung into the saddle behind him. "Ready," she said, slipping an arm around his waist and feeling him tense just slightly.

"Right. Hold on," he warned. "Jeran kind of likes to make dramatic exits-" A rush of gale-force wind cut him off as they were catapulted into the air. Opheila tightened her grip on Ayel quickly as she began to tip backward, with the three of them rising perpendicular to the ground. "WHOA! Wait wait wait – Jeran! She's not strapped in!"

_Oh, whoops! Sorry, Opheila! I'll take us down. _Unfortunately, in doing so, Jeran executed a corkscrew that almost threw her off the saddle.

"And now the spinning," she said flatly. "Did he catch a whiff of Ragnar's breath or something? Because he seems really exuberant today."

"I think he's just enjoying my embarrassment," Ayel answered. "Slow down, scaly!"

_Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm really not used to passengers! _The dragon banked and leveled out, flying back toward the city at an even pace. As they slowed, Opheila was able to put less pressure on the boy in front of her and lean back a little. Not that she wasn't enjoying their proximity just a little.

Ayel half turned so that one hazel eye was facing her. "Hey, so… I asked Thera to let us pick you up because I wanted to talk to you."

"I surmised as much," she responded dryly.

"I mean, that dance is funny in its way, but it… didn't really say much by way of an actual apology." He looked down, and continued as he heard her waiting for him. "It was uncalled for of me to be short with you in the first place, and I really didn't need to take the proverbial bait and turn it into a fight when you were really just worried about me." A little smirk. "Even if you didn't have a great way of showing it."

"Haven't I mentioned it?" she said wearily. "It's difficult to tell one emotion from another when I'm around you."

"…yeah," he shifted, made a little uneasy by her forwardness. "I, ah, was thinking about everyone and how prepared we are for what's coming, and I'm a little worried about us specifically, to be honest."

Opheila started. "Huh? How so?"

Ayel looked her straight in the eyes again. "Well, you could be better at sword fighting, and I couldn't land an arrow in my target if it was my birthday." Unconsciously, he fidgeted. "And… it just so happens that what one of us is bad at, the other one is good at."

"You want to practice together," she realized.

"Yeah."

"Just the two of us."

"Well, there's kind of a limit to what we can do just the two of us outside of that, isn't there?" His signature crooked grin was on his face. "I'll teach you to fight, you teach me to shoot. Deal?"

Opheila was smiling back. "Okay. You've got yourself a deal."

Now he really ignited that grin. "Great! We start tomorrow, once we're settled in Teirm."

She noticed something. "You just said 'we'."

"Did I?"

It took Opheila a full three seconds to decipher why she was so happy.

In his own indirect and clumsy way, Ayel had asked to court her.

**Every swear word my characters use was also used in the time period this story takes place in, except for the f-bomb which I have not used and had a different meaning back then.**

**Just in response to AnonFanboy's concerns.**


	23. Twenty-One: Meetings

**Chapter Twenty-One: Meetings**

**Ayel**

Almost immediately after they entered Teirm, Ayel's purse was lifted from his pocket.

The evening had begun innocently enough. The Riders had arrived as the sun dropped slowly out of its zenith and walked confidently through the gates, while the dragons retreated to a nearby mountain (which looked more like a plateau, according to Opheila, but Ayel was still going to call it a mountain) where Saphira had once hidden as a young adult. The day was still bright and sunlight shafted into the close-knit streets. Teirm was much more crowded than Ilirea had been, even in the city center, and its structural divergence did not help with the way houses were squeezed together. Building the city in progressive tiers had been genius in the theater of tactics, but it was hell on Ayel's claustrophobia.

It was while they were walking through an alley, taking a shortcut to the next level where Opheila said her house was located, when he really began to sweat. The walls were hemming him in just a tad, and it made him hunch his shoulders and shiver every few seconds. He blinked, shook his head, and tried to focus on what Opheila was saying as she walked ahead of him.

"Eragon told me he has a couple of contacts in the Merchants' Guild here," she spoke over her shoulder. "Jeod and Helen Longshanks, who my father will know, since he's the quartermaster of the Mercenaries' Guild."

"Your people really like to throw guilds around," Vaas remarked, who was bringing up the rear. Ayel had no idea how he dealt with the narrow alleyway, because the Kull was as ill a fit to the street space as he'd ever seen. He hadn't gotten any stares in this city either, because it was so close to the Spine that Urgals were nearly as commonplace here as they were in Kuasta. In fact, some of them were in the Mercenaries' Guild itself, looking to prove themselves in combat against pirates. Vaas had recognized at least one of his fellows in the marketplace a few blocks behind them and stopped to chat. The Urgal's toothy smile made Ayel wonder how well they knew each other.

"It's an identity thing, I guess," she allowed, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Ayel was given a moment of relief as he was able to think about how cute that particular habit of hers was, rather than think about the fact that the houses on either side were suffocating him. Would this cobblestoned purgatory never end?

Astrid was trying not to trip over the curb. "Is your brother in the Mercenaries' guild, too?"

"Yes. He's a first mate on one of Helen's ships, I think – which makes him a squad leader in the guild. Protects it from pirates and the like, you know the drill." Opheila shrugged. "With what time we had, he taught me everything I know."

"He sounds scary then, eh, Ayel?" Now Vaas was obviously trying to take Ayel's mind off the gripping sensation that ailed him, but it didn't really work, because all the boy could muster was a _hmm_ and a shaky nod.

To his front and left, Beq snorted. "You can run straight into a pack of Ruined, you can charge into a cave full of Sand Demons on your own, you can bull-rush the Ra'zac, but you can't handle a road that's too tiny."

"Neff off," Ayel growled through chattering teeth.

"_You_ neff off," replied Beq, who for once seemed to almost be enjoying himself.

In response, rather than waste words, Ayel bit his thumb and flicked it in Beq's direction.

The Surdan youth chuckled dryly and turned to face forward. "Never change, Ayel."

"You're unusually talkative and open today," observed Opheila.

"And you're as creepy and analytical as ever," Beq said, wrinkling his nose.

Astrid mewled in frustration. "Beq!"

"Sorry," he said quickly.

There was a full moment of stunned silence.

Vaas, who had actually stopped walking, hastened to catch up in two long strides. "Did everyone get what just happened? Can we all just… take a second to appreciate that?"

"Shut up," muttered Beq, and sped up to pull ahead of the group.

Astrid had a little smile on her face and, as she drew level with Opheila, whispered something to her.

Curious as to how she managed to silence Beq so suddenly, Ayel sent a questioning tendril to Opheila's mind. After identifying him, she opened her defenses.

_What's that? What's she saying?_ he asked, not quite demanding.

He felt her amusement. _Bugger off, it's none of our business. _

_Well, it's obviously yours, if she's telling you about it. So give me the dirt! I have to know how she whipped him so soon – OW! _He'd felt a shock, the mental equivalent of a playful swat that hurt a little too much, just as Opheila's always did whether she used her fists or her mind.

_If they did have some sort of dysfunctional thing for each other that's beginning to take shape, I should think you ought to be less concerned with whatever that is and more concerned with a certain dysfunctional thing that's _already_ taken shape, Sparky, _she said deliberately.

Ayel winced. _Point taken. I'll leave it._

_Good for you._

He withdrew with a certain level of caution, wary of more mental slaps.

It was at this exact juncture that they reached the end of the alley, which had inclined into a ramp that led to the next and third level of the city. And it was at this same exact juncture when Ayel saw a little blur zoom past him and consequently felt a strange absence of weight where his wallet should have been.

It didn't take him long to put two and two together, and he'd been reacting faster and faster these days, so he pivoted and moved into the thief's wake, watching the figure – a human child wearing a shapeless hat – continue running down the largely empty street. "OI!"

As if that mayhem wasn't enough, something heavy collided with him from behind, with a grunt of "Steady on, mate!" and knocked him off his feet, sending he and whoever crashed into him to the ground. As soon as he could, Ayel pushed his new acquaintance away and rolled to his feet, preparing to run after the urchin who'd nicked his purse.

"Which way did that little blond bastard go?" Asked the young man who'd tripped over the Rider, picking himself up. Ayel glanced at him, taking him in. Ruffled leather and plate armor, mousy brown hair matted from a discarded helmet, an empty dagger sheath at his side, and angular features. He was breathing hard from what had perhaps already been a long chase.

"Straight down the alley with my stipend for the week," Ayel said angrily. "What, did he rob you blind too?"

"Just my money, my helm, my dagger, and my dignity." The stranger grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him along, starting to run down the street. "Let's go!"

"Ack! Gerrof! I can take him mysel-" But it was too late. Ayel was swept down the road as Opheila called after him, and had no choice other than stumbling to keep his footing.

Once he was sure enough for the man to let go of him, the two of them ran through the maze of houses, splashing through rain gutters, dodging women emptying their chamber pots from second-floor bedrooms, and even sliding under a hay cart, all to keep their sandy-haired cutpurse in sight. The child weaved through the foot traffic into an impromptu bazaar that had sprung up in the third tier's central plaza, and ducked under a tent flap. Noises of general chaos, destruction, and frustrated shouts made it easy to track his path through the stalls, and Ayel, who was pulling ahead of his ally now, dove after. Skirting a tanning vat and leaping over a dung heap, he tackled the thief around his diminutive waist and hugged the kid to the ground, ignoring the sharp knuckles and kneecaps that beat at him in defense.

"Stay down, ya lil' ingrate!" He yelled, his own face awkwardly smushed into the flagstones. "I won't hurt you; I just want my damn purse back!"

His captive, who couldn't have been more than eight or nine, didn't stop struggling. "Have it! Now let me go!"

"Oi, mate!" Footsteps approached, carrying the voice of the man Ayel had left behind. "Get the both of you up, will you?"

"I would, but I don't want him to wriggle away," answered the harried Dragon Rider. "A little help?"

A pair of hands lifted the thief by his shoulders and pulled him out of Ayel's unforgiving embrace, hauling them both to a standing position. Now close enough to both of them, he saw that the child came up to his shoulder, and the man was a few inches taller than him.

Trying to catch the cutpurse's eyes, the young man snapped his fingers. "Elana."

And then Ayel noticed that Elana was not a boy. Her face was too gentle and her form too graceful, and her voice had been to high-pitched. He should have realized it sooner… and maybe not tackled her so hard, because she looked thin, even frail. _Oops. _However, she'd proven to have the supple strength of a bowstave, judging by how much those punches and kicks smarted even now.

Elana finally met the man's gaze and took off her cap, letting a torrent of shoulder-length corn yellow hair fall free. She was pink and pissed. "All right, fine, Malchus! you caught me again!" nudging his helmet, which she'd dropped, over to him with her foot, she grumbled, "I was going to give it back, anyway."

Malchus stooped to retrieve his helm, which had a wallet and a knife cradled inside it, and as he bent, Elana flicked him in the forehead. He picked it up, straightened, and cuffed her on the ear affectionately. Both of them laughed.

"Okay, you're off the hook, runt," he said good-naturedly. "But only because you're the best pickpocket in the guild and you remind me of my little sister."

"And because I'm just so pretty?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Wounds of Angvard, girl! I'm more than twice your age! Plus, you look like you're trying to swat a fly without using your hands." Malchus laughed again at her pout. "Well, with ambition like that, you'll be fighting the boys off your lawn any day." If Elana brightened a little, he pretended not to notice. "Now," he said sternly. "We have an apology to make, don't we?"

The girl scratched her head, confused. "We do?"

"Um, hello," Ayel said, sensing his cue. "I'm right here."

"Why should I apologize to _him_?" cried Elana. "He's the one who jumped me!"

"Maybe because you took his money, too?" Malchus suggested.

"Well, I'm under no obligation to give it back, am I? He's not one of us! 'Any burglary outside the guild is not practice,' remember?" She stuck out her tongue and waved cheekily, spinning on her heels and darting away.

Shaking his head, Malchus regarded Ayel with startlingly blue eyes. "I'm really sorry about her," he said. "She never knew her parents, and, well, my mates and I weren't cut out to raise a kid. We turned her out a little… unruly." He began to move. "Hurry or we won't catch her again."

With an outstretched hand, Ayel stopped him in his tracks. "For the second time: I've got this." He turned his palm toward Elana's receding form and said, "Letta."

The girl gave a squeak as she lifted off the ground and hung there, maybe a foot above the road, frozen in place.

Malchus whistled. "A magician, huh? She picked the wrong guy to mess with today."

"You have no idea," Ayel agreed, as they both caught up to her.

She re-initiated their conversation first. "I seem to have – uh – lost weight."

Ayel's eyes narrowed. "And I seem to have lost all of my money." He ended the spell and let her fall, confident she could land on her feet. "Funny, you were willing to give it up earlier."

"Ah, that's small change for a master thief like me," she grinned cockily, handing him back his purse. It didn't feel any emptier.

"Didn't stop you from snatching it in the first place." Malchus pointed at her with a hand on his hip. "Back to the guild house. Now." Elana was halfway into a whine when he cut her off. "Don't make me tell my father you've been harassing tourists again."

"Aww, fine! Meanie." Sticking out her tongue again, Elana trudged away down the street.

"So, what's your name, stranger?" asked Malchus, looking after her fondly.

"Ayel, son of Cadmon. And you're Malchus?"

"Son of Hamfast." He clapped Ayel on the shoulder. "Speaking of my father, he's expecting the whole family at home right now, because he wants to get in dinner before an important sort of rendezvous with a couple of mucky-mucks, so I have to get on back. How about, as an apology for Elana's youthful exuberance, you come break bread with us?"

"I really have to-" Ayel closed his mouth before the excuse came out. He realized he liked Malchus so far, and supper sounded very nice, and it shouldn't take too long and if Opheila was mad when he met up with the group late, she might not be _too_ mad if he just explained himself for once… "All right, I'll take you up on that."

Malchus showed off his broad smile. "Excellent, mate! No one can cook like my mother, but we lost her a few years ago, and now we have Gretchen. Don't worry, she's tolerable anyway."

"I'm sorry," said Ayel honestly. "How did she die?"

"What are you talking about? She said my father was a good-for-nothing-scoundrel and packed her bags! If that qualifies as death, I've been looking at the world all wrong!" He winked and sprang onward. "This way!"

With a mild smirk, Ayel followed him through a series of turns until they came to an elegant town house, somewhat beset by ivy and a few crumbling corners, on quiet street in the upper district of the third tier. The windows on the floor above were dark, but there was light under the door and the sound of voices inside.

"Okay, be polite; it sounds like they've arrived already. Dad might be a bit on edge, or he'll be unusually happy." A booming laugh from inside. "Okay, scratch that, he's happy. Still be polite! You strike me as a gruff sort of fellow." Malchus pulled the door open.

Ayel was somewhat taken aback.

Sitting at a large round table were five figures. One was a well-built man, if inclined to a bit of ale-paunch at his belly, with a curly chestnut beard and horn-rimmed spectacles. He was holding a mug and continued to laugh, looked up at his son stepping in the door and grinned even wider.

The other four were, respectively, Opheila, Astrid, Beq, and Vaas.

Opheila singled him out right off the bat, her expression happy and relaxed. "Malchus! You finally got home-" Her eyes shifted to Ayel and colored with frustration and confusion. "Ayel? Where have you been? Where'd you meet my brother?"

At once, Ayel and Malchus looked at one another and asked, "Wait, you two know each other?"


	24. Twenty-Two: Aggressive Negotiations

**Hello all! Told ya I'd be relatively quick. I really like this chapter, so I'm excited to see what you think!**

**Pronunciation Guide and Dictionary:**

**_Drajl_ ; Urgal Speak ; _spawn of maggots _; DRA-JYLL**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Aggressive Negotiations**

**Ayel**

He thought he woke because he could feel Opheila's frustration. Of course, the fact that she was vexed at something shouldn't have roused him, but then if she was being careless and projecting her emotions with telepathy, it was possible he could have picked up on it. The feeling was similar to his empathic link with Jeran, but more muffled and impersonal, like a normal mental exchange. Still, it was odd that he could sense what she was experiencing like this.

To the thought of Jeran, there was an image of a flock of white doves, and the impression of impatience and hunger. The dragon would have to eat every last one to make a dent in his peckishness, but was too stubborn to seek larger prey when he'd already chased the birds this far. Ayel grinned, but made no comment and instead got dressed in relative silence, leaving his partner of heart and mind to the mess he'd created for himself.

Since Ayel was also impatient by nature, he was still pulling on a boot as he left the room he'd slept in. With an awkward little jump, he secured the offending piece of footwear and made his best effort at walking normally. A little ways down the hall was a landing with a mirror, and that was where he felt the angry waves that had awakened him.

Opheila was standing in front of a mirror on the wall, both hands in her hair, trying to wrangle it into position. From what Ayel could guess, it wasn't any style he'd seen her tie it up in before, but the actual result of her ministrations was a frazzled mess. She yanked and twisted, becoming increasingly peeved as her eyes narrowed and her cheeks reddened, and finally let it fall with an indignant noise. A waterfall of rich brown cascaded down to midway through her shoulder blades. Glaring at the scrap of cloth that came away in her hand, she made no move toward another attempt.

Although he saw that she was already in a bad mood, this was also the first time Ayel had seen her with her hair down and the first time he'd ever successfully sneaked up on her, and he intended to make use of it. Once he was certain she didn't even see him in the mirror behind her, he leaned against the wall to her side and casually asked, "Need a hand?"

She jumped, covering her mouth, and then shot daggers at him with her eyes. "_Honestly_. If I'd been holding Manin and not a hair tie, I might have skewered you."

He waved off the threat with a scoff. "You like me too much. Anyway, I could feel how pissed you are in my sleep. What's with suddenly wearing your heart on your telepathic sleeve?"

"It's my house," Opheila challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Can't I unwind a little?"

_Oh. True. _A shrug. "Right. But, what I'm saying is, you woke me up. And being that angry is probably bad for your heart rate, so…"

"Hn." Ignoring him, she slid her fingers through her hair and began weaving it into some sort of braid. "That's strange. You shouldn't have felt anything unless I sent you a message." Looping the braid in on itself, she appeared to be trying to secure it in a spiky ball behind her head. The majority of her bangs fell in front of her face on the left side. "Maybe I did contact you, without thinking." A split second before she seemed about finished, the entire affair came undone and her hair fell loose again. Opheila sighed and dropped her hands.

"…as a desperate plea for help?" Ayel suggested cheerfully.

Her reply was a guilty smile. "I'd normally have Astrid help me with this, or Gretchen before Thera hatched for me, but both of them are busy and this is a little difficult working behind my back. Go on without me; I'll be down in a minute."

"No you don't." He stopped her hand by grabbing the other end of the hair tie. "Let me do it for you."

"Let you-" For a moment she stared blankly at him. "Oh, _please_, Ayel. You?"

"I have two younger sisters," he said defensively.

"Who most likely got all the smarts in the family and know better than to trust you with something as delicate as their hair. Besides, isn't it a 'very sacred breach of social contract' where you come from?" She smirked, already knowing what he'd say in return.

"To quote you, Blue Jay, 'I'm not just anyone, am I?'" If the room heated up a little, he pretended not to notice. "Now teach me how to make the stupid braid."

"Oh, fine." Opheila split her locks into four tresses and made a complicated pattern. "You repeat that down the length and then," once she'd expertly threaded it through her hair, "you curl it up into a loose bun like this. But make sure there's enough to hang down in the front, or else it'll fall apart like mine have been doing."

Something told Ayel her movements should have been too quick and precise for him to follow, but he tracked them perfectly and even remembered what to do correctly. _Perhaps that has something to do with the differences in my reflexes and running speed I keep noticing. _He moved around behind her and swept her hair into his hands, exposing her pale neck to the light and subsequently trying to keep his focus elsewhere.

Opheila's hair was baby fine and quite smooth, and as he worked the knot he saw her eyes were closed peacefully in response to his gentle tugging. Returning his full attention to the braid, he checked the distribution of her bangs and let a few strands slip, watching them drift back into place. Hoping he'd allocated enough, he executed the curl he'd seen her attempt before and was rewarded when it held its shape.

"Finished." He stepped back into her field of vision. "How does it look?"

She opened her eyes, evidently surprised at the speed of the task, and turned her head from side to side, gazing into the mirror critically. "It's… perfect. I don't believe it."

He grinned evilly. "What, no '_Oh, please, Ayel. You?_' for me now?"

Cue the eye roll. "Shut _up_. You've already impressed me; you don't have to tease me any more to hammer it in." Now she slid the hair tie over the knot to fix it closed and straightened her tunic. "In any case, Malchus and the others went ahead to the guild house. We're awaiting word from Lord Risthart so we can meet him and discuss the invasion. Representatives from both guilds will have to be there as well as us, and we're _expected_ to be _polite_," she concluded with emphasis.

"What?" Ayel asked, affronted. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Opheila sighed. "Nothing. Thank you for doing my hair, Sparky." She tickled his neck, making him flinch, and pulled him down the stairs. "Now come on, or we're going to be late."

**Beq**

Beq was annoyed. The Mercenaries' Guild were a rowdy bunch, and their guild house (read: private tavern and armory) was brimming with "chaos and camaraderie" (read: noise) as Malchus liked to say, which was the worst possible environment for someone with a reputation for so-called antisocial tendencies.

A clay mug flew past his ear and shattered against the wall behind him, splattering the tabletop and the floor with wine. Beq growled and cast his gaze around for the thrower, but found no one, so it must have been an accident. _I swear, if Astrid wasn't here, I'd either leave or I'd start ripping these idiots' throats out._

Through their bond, Naroki purred. _I prefer the second option, and do it anyway. _

_Not this time. I'm supposed to be mellowing out, remember? _That was why Astrid paid so much attention to him, especially when he was losing his temper.

Right?

Vaas was the only Rider besides Ayel and Opheila (and Beq did _not_ want to know why _they_ were so late) who wasn't at the table with Malchus, because he had begun talking avidly with a trio of Urgals in the corner opposite. One of them was also a Kull, and Beq curiously dipped into the mental waves around them only to catch something from Vaas that sounded like, _Damn it, remember your name! You see a more handsome Urgal every time you look in the mirror! Why now? _The Surdan youth shook his head with a sardonic smile and returned to crowd watching.

While Astrid was rooting through the pouch where she kept those weird plants of hers, occasionally murmuring something to herself, Opheila's brother was sitting with his feet on the table and his head leaning over the back of the chair, looking at the ceiling.

Beq didn't quite know what to make of Malchus. He had a pleasant face – in fact, Vaas had grudgingly described him as "handsome, for a human" – but the same cold blue eyes that Opheila possessed, and the same ability to turn a glance into a beam of intrusive observation. On the outside, he seemed laid-back, stretched out like a lanky house cat, but at the same time, behind his breezy attitude, Beq felt like Malchus was smarter and missed fewer details than he let on. Like the guy's flippancy was a cover for how calculating he really was.

But he didn't seem fake; it was just as if there were two layers to his personality… one much more dangerous than the other. Yeah, he was definitely one to watch out for. Kind of reminded Beq of Ayel in a way, if Ayel were more collected and didn't let his emotions control his actions so much.

For the millionth time, Beq heard Astrid's voice in his head asking him who he was to judge Ayel for that, and for the millionth time, he shoved it back beneath the undertow of his subconscious.

That had gotten irritating after a while.

Beq's thoughts were interrupted when the barmaid sashayed over to their table. She'd been around once before, but the morning rush had frazzled her a bit and now she was making regular circuits. She was a striking human girl with long black tresses and an easy blush. The kind Beq normally avoided. "Anything else I can get you all?" she asked, and then addressed him directly. "You haven't touched that ale. Want another? Something a little warmer, maybe?"

Beq wrinkled his nose. He had no doubt what 'something warmer' meant, and he wanted no part of it. Standing up so quickly he startled Astrid, he mechanically turned towards the door. "I'll wait outside."

"Sit down, mate, there's no need to put a whole pub in between you and her, she's harmless." Malchus finally looked up. "Naeve, no man in his right mind would go for it this early in the morning. Such as it is, leave him alone. You're not his type anyway."

Naeve pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Nice to see you, too, Mal. Top off yours?"

"You're a darling," he said, and passed his mug to her. A pitcher fell and rose, and he sipped his newly refilled ale. "Now give the others some attention, really, they'll get to thinking you like me better."

The ebony-haired beauty laughed. "Who cares what they think?" But she began to walk away. "One day, Malchus."

He called after her, "Whatever you say, love!" and turned apologetically to Beq. "Sorry about Naeve, lad. She flirts with everyone, and that's not the most blatant pass she's made at a stranger I've brought in. Usually she's trying to make me jealous."

"She part of your guild?"

"Unfortunately, yes. She gathers information, does reconnaissance work, that sort. Frequents at least five other taverns across this level."

Astrid stirred. "She's not… _loose_, is she?"

For once, it was Beq's turn to be appalled. "Astrid?"

"I just couldn't think of a better way to say it!" she sputtered.

Malchus laughed. "As far as I know, no, but she has her methods."

"She's a bad influence on Elana, not to mention you," the dwarven girl accused.

"We just met them and you're already trying to mother them."

"Beq, that's not the point!"

"Ah, it's not as bad as it looks," said Malchus. "She's a good operative and she dotes on the rest of us. Besides, I pick my mates carefully, and Naeve was one of my first friends. She's got a good heart."

"What about the bunch tearing up the floorboards?" asked Beq pointedly.

"Them? That's Cray and the boys. They're not part of my unit – they're the Berserkers, we're the Wolf Pack."

"Funny, I almost expected you to add 'guild' after each one of those names."

At his arm, Astrid clapped a hand over her lips and giggled. "Malchus, you got Beq to make a joke!"

"Hey!"

"Excellent." That shit-eating grin spread across the mercenary's face again. "But the Berserkers won't cause any real trouble; Cray's too scared of Naeve."

"He's scared of Naeve?" Beq was incredulous.

Malchus held his gaze, not blinking. "Everyone's scared of Naeve. She's the one who taught Opheila how to deal with our kind," he added, by way of explanation.

"You mean males?"

"Yep."

"Oh." Beq uneasily looked into his mug. "Now I'm kind of scared of her, too."

"Speaking of Opheila," Astrid interjected, "shouldn't she and Ayel be here by now?"

"I bet I can point at the door the exact second they open it." Malchus waited a loaded moment, and then thrust a finger at the door just as he'd said he would. It opened, but three men, none of which were Ayel or Opheila, walked in instead. "Oh… neffer."

Beq shrugged. "What? So it's not them. They'll be here eventually."

"No, mate. I know them too. And they're trouble."

"Yours?"

"No. City guard. Risthart's. The Patriots' Guild."

"Gods, you can't swing a cat without hitting a guild in here!"

"I'm just joking; they're not actually a guild. That's why they're dangerous." Malchus's expression did not change from the glaring mask he'd adopted upon the newcomers' entry.

The three from the city guard all wore blue and gray tunics and swords at their sides, more old-fashioned and expensive than anything the mercenaries wore. They approached at a leisurely pace, the noise in the tavern dissolving to stares as they earned the distrust and distaste of anyone they passed. The way they carried themselves made Beq think they perhaps deserved such treatment, and so he made no effort not to openly scowl at them.

Just before they'd fully reached the table, the man in the front called out. "Malchus, it's good I've found you here. What a novelty! It's been too long."

"More like not long enough," mumbled Malchus. At full volume, he sounded tired. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Roque?"

Beq now saw that Roque was about the same age as Malchus. "Actually, it's Captain Roque now," he said proudly, running a hand through his thin hair. "I received my promotion yesterday."

"Congratulations," Malchus drawled. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

"Well!" said Captain Roque, looking around at the stony glares from the Berserkers and Wolf Pack, including Naeve, who was leaning against the bar. "If it weren't for our history, I'd feel rather unwelcome."

"It's because of our history that you should be aware of just how welcome you are." At Malchus's answer, Roque's companions, the man with a broken nose and the one with thick eyebrows, tittered in ill-concealed amusement, obviously missing the true meaning behind his words. "Now, if you don't mind, _Captain_, I'd like to know for what purpose you've deigned to visit me this fine morning."

"Certainly." Roque stood straight and folded his hands behind his back. "Lord Risthart sent me to inform you that his meeting with your father and the Merchants' Guild will have to be postponed until slightly later today. He extends his apologies and asks that you merit this delay and meet with him an hour later than originally planned, at low tide this evening."

"I don't find issue with that, and neither will my father. Tell your officer who reports to Risthart that we'll meet with him then."

"Very well." Roque turned, almost as if to leave, but then pivoted to face Malchus once more. "If I may ask, since you are so aware of the gap between me and the lord himself, of what is the nature of this meeting? I inquire only because I have been entrusted with its time and location, and I wish to know how sensitive that information is. I'd hate to reveal something I shouldn't, and I've heard that it may be vital to the future of our fair city."

_Nosy prick, _thought Beq, but still said nothing.

Malchus sighed. "It's classified, Roque, but I can tell you'll ask someone else, so I'll simply say we're handling the defense budget. No more, no less."

"You wouldn't be preparing for something more than military drills, would you?" asked the captain with a gleam in his eye.

Malchus sipped his ale.

"Perhaps, an attack by pirates or the like? Not the Empire, because we have Riders in the city, I should think, by those strange weapons your friends are carrying."

At this comment, Astrid spat out the mouthful of whatever she'd been drinking in surprise, and Beq's hand unconsciously went to the hilt of his katar. Roque's companions shifted nervously, sensing the change in the air.

Malchus finished retreating into his drink. "I hate to say it, but that's mighty clever of you, Roque. Your mother wasn't wasting her time when she spread her skirts to Risthart, then went right back to _tending his garden_."

At long last, Malchus got a reaction from Captain Roque. A vein bulged on his forehead, and his face mottled with color. "Watch your tongue, mercenary scum. Or somebody might CUT IT OFF!" He made to draw his sword, but before it was even free of the sheath there was a clang of metal on metal, and something that reflected the torchlight nearby was extending past Beq's shoulder.

It took a moment, but the Rider realized what had happened. Malchus had beaten Roque to the draw and braced the tip of his sword against Roque's crossguard, preventing him from drawing the blade. It must have taken a tremendous amount of arm strength to provide the necessary pressure, but Malchus didn't need to keep it up for long, because a chorus of swords on scabbards echoed throughout the entire tavern. When the city guards looked around warily, every guild member in the room – Wolf Pack or not – had their weapon out and aimed at Roque. The captain gritted his teeth, but overcame his anger and took his hand off his sword hilt.

"You picked the wrong place to mess about with that ceremonial monstrosity, Captain Roque," said Malchus. "But if you ever want to duel a real man with a real sword, find me somewhere other than a pub full of my mates."

Roque seethed. "I may just take you up on that, you cocksure guttersnipe. After all, who are you to judge _my_ mother when _yours _couldn't even stand you and left? Maybe if she'd stuck around your sister would act like a proper woman."

Malchus's face went from bemused to cold rage. "I don't care if you insult my mother, but don't you ever try to take a shot at my sister." He suddenly stood up, gaining a few inches on Roque, and raised the tip of his sword to his throat. "If you do, or if you ever come in here again, I'll have _you_ act like a proper woman when I cut your stone-sack off. That is, if you really _do_ have any balls."

Roque was halfway into opening his mouth for a retort when Naeve moved to stand beside Malchus and put a firm hand on his shoulder. "That's enough! Mal, put your damn sword away and sit down. As for you –" She turned to the captain. "For your information, Opheila didn't need her mother; she had _me_ – and I daresay she acts more like a woman than you'll _ever_ act like a man. More to that, I'm surprised you had the nerve to come here after what you did four years ago, but now it's time to leave. You can play errand boy for Lord Risthart somewhere else."

The two guards who were with him went straight for the door, but Roque stayed behind. "We'll see how you fare without a pub full of bodyguards and a vicious barwench to protect you, Malchus." He, too, made to leave, but as he walked away Malchus lost control and lunged for his back. He was stopped only by Naeve slamming a fist into his kidney, which resulted in the now-subdued mercenary collapsing onto the table. Roque sneered and left the tavern undeterred. Beq helped Malchus into his seat and regarded Naeve with new approval.

"That was a good punch."

"Thanks," she said breathlessly. "Malchus, did you have to take his bait?"

"I was fine until he started in on Opheila," Malchus groaned. "All those thinly veiled jabs add up, you know." He straightened a little and pouted at her. "Besides, I only lost it-"

"-after he insulted me? Charming, but I could shame him in front of the entire city with both hands tied behind my back and you know it. Let me fight my own battles, mister shining armor." But when Naeve walked away in a huff, it was clear she was flattered anyway.

When neither Malchus nor Beq said anything, Astrid spoke up. "That man was not very nice."

"No, really?" said a deep voice. Vaas had edged over to the table and sat on the floor, his head still level with everyone else's. "Jornusk told me that _drajl _was a lack-horned betrayer, too."

"You have no idea," agreed Malchus, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"But his whole story is kind of sad, don't you think? It's really heartbreaking that his father can't acknowledge him and how the whole world looks down on him, just because of a decision he wasn't even born to make." She fidgeted with her pouch.

"Did you look into his mind?" Beq asked.

"There were no defenses! How could I help it? I… poked around to see why he was so mean, yes," she answered, ashamed but not regretful.

"It would be sad, if he was a little less of a cabbage-farting bastard," Malchus conceded. "And that would be if he hadn't already soiled relations between the guild and the city guard."

The earlier mentions of such an incident had piqued Beq's interest. _After all, I know all about dishonor and the breaking of oaths. _"How'd he do that?"

The mercenary frowned. "I'll talk about it later, though our hot-blooded friend Ayel won't like to hear it. I'm just glad he wasn't here, or Opheila, for that matter. The three of us might have…"

Vaas laughed. "Yeah, we dodged an arrow on that one. But it was a close shave; I can sense them approaching."

As if on cue, the door swung open and Ayel and Opheila walked in. The previous level of noise and activity had returned to the tavern since Roque's departure, and they made a beeline for the table largely unnoticed.

Astrid whispered, "They're holding hands."

Vaas 'whispered', "I know!"

Beq snorted.

Once the pair had reached the table, Opheila went to her brother while Ayel procured some chairs. Her face was concerned, hiding no small amount of anger. "Was that Silas Roque? He looked absolutely livid. Please tell me it's your doing."

"Aye, sis, it's all my doing," he said wearily. "Did you do something new with your hair?"

"Mm-hm." She sat. Ayel sat next to her.

"Did you ask bright eyes over there to do it up for you?"

"Mm-hm."

Ayel blinked. "Wait, how'd you figure that out?"

Malchus gestured to the space between them. "You're sitting too far apart."

"…what does that have to do with-?"

Opheila made a sound of impatient exasperation and inched her chair closer to his. "There. Why was Roque here, anyway?"

"Risthart's moving the meeting an hour later. And to try and get a rise out of me, naturally."

"Did he?" she asked probingly.

He sighed. "Yes."

"Where's Naeve? Did she hit you for it? Because I would have. And then I would have hit Roque many more times than I hit you."

Vaas chuckled. "She hit him, all right."

"Roque sounds like a right neffing bastard if you all hate him so much," Ayel said. "Looks like one, too. He came out the door and looked right at Opheila, said, 'oh, the rabble is just congregating today' and gave me the most arrogant glare down his nose; you'd think I was pond algae the way he eyed me-"

"He tends to do that," added Malchus. "Oh, here comes Naeve. 'Pheila, look out behind you."

A blur of black hair barreled into Opheila from behind, knocking them both and the chair over. From said blur, which of course was Naeve, came a girlish squeal. "Ophie!"

Opheila laughed as they picked themselves up. "Hi, Naeve! It's so good to see you! You look amazing!"

Naeve cupped her face in both hands. "Not nearly as good as you; you've got this _glow_ – is it because of the magic, or is it because of this dashing rogue over here?" she sent Ayel a saucy wink, turning his cheeks red.

"A little of both, I think," said Opheila, her mood entirely shifted for the better. "But more on the end of the magic, to be sure." She turned from their embrace to explain a few things. "Ayel, this is Naeve. She's-"

"-the pain in my ass," finished Malchus.

"-essentially, Malchus's betrothed," Opheila duly corrected.

"I'll get you two something to drink," Naeve said quickly, and halfway ran from the table.

Malchus, who couldn't run, glowered. "Opheila, what the hell?"

"What? It's so obvious you fancy each other. You forget all your lessons to me when you're around her, for crying out loud. Plus, from what I can guess, all Roque had to do was bring her into your little tiff to get you on the attack, am I right?"

"I taught you too well," he grumbled, rubbing his temples.

Ayel nodded sympathetically. "Obviously. She's a bloody nightmare sometimes; knows what I'm going to say and why before I say it. It's eerie."

She rounded on him. "Well, maybe you could work against acting so revealing! Honestly, that's big talk coming from someone whose list of tells spans several paragraphs!"

Naeve was back with two cups. "Kids! Drink your beer. Shut up."

"Just what I was thinking," said Vaas, angling a toothy grin at her. "They're just torture."

"I know, right? They can derail a whole conversation like a wayward mine cart." The black-haired barmaid sat down between Opheila and Malchus, putting her feet on the latter's lap. "So. Roque. He used to be one of us, actually, back before Eragon bearded that rat-catcher Galbatorix. Silas wasn't a bad fighter, but he was a horrible mercenary – he's got no honor. The kind willing to forsake a pre-existing contract for someone who offers more money."

Beq frowned. "That's the worst kind."

"Don't we know it. But he avoided a bad reputation by staying out of the chain of command. Well, it all comes around to the point where, about four years ago, he and Malchus are both in line for captain of our Wolf Pack. Roque gets cocky, forgets that he has to hide the fact that he's a sniveling coward who'll do anything for a coin, and when he's serving his shift as acting captain, makes a call that shifts our allegiance and breaks our contract. All because he found out our client couldn't pay up front."

"Our assignment was to protect a group of villagers from up north as they boarded an stole an Imperial ship called the _Dragon Wing_," Malchus joined her. "My father's old mate Jeod was smuggling them to the Varden's headquarters in Surda and needed cover. The thing was, the Empire put him out of business and he gave my father an I.O.U. – cited for after the damn war was over." He sighed. "We'd have to be crazy to take a contract like that from anyone else, but we don't abandon our own, and Jeod always gave us work on his ships and even helped us out of a few scrapes in the past.

"So we took the job on our honor, and in the middle of night watch, right when they're about to get away with it, too, Roque gets cold feet. Some idiot tells him about the loan and he goes straight to a watchtower where Risthart's soldiers under Galbatorix are sleeping. The next thing the rest of us know, we're forced to stand down by a bunch of crossbow-wielding lunatics and they start a firefight with the sailors manning ballistae on the ship. Set the whole harbor on fire, almost." Malchus clenched his fist. "A lot of innocent deaths on the lower levels."

"Of course, the killing isn't all Roque's fault, though it might as well be," allowed Naeve. "The real thing we can blame him for is breaking contract and sullying our relations with the Merchants' Guild. We're lucky Jeod didn't blame us for the Empire's pursuit, or he and Helen wouldn't be doing business with us now." She took a quaff of a bottle from her tray. "As it is, it's a good thing he left for the city guard anyway. Let him get fat on a government stipend and get promoted to captain because he's Risthart's bastard. What do we care?"

"That whole story – that's horrific! How could soldiers entrusted with protecting the city do something like that?" Astrid cried in distress.

"Galbatorix," Beq explained. "Different ruler, different rules."

"Still, doesn't mean Roque had to sell them out, the snake-tongued, spavined turd," said Vaas forcefully. "You're right; there's no honor in that."

"From what I've picked up on, that group of villagers may have been the same group that led a mass exodus from Carvahall to the Burning Plains," said Ayel. "Didn't Eragon have a brother among them? And he knows Jeod, too."

"Another reason why it'd be useful to have him here now, instead of 'by the end of the week'," Opheila grumbled. "Well, we can make do. We'll just have to play our cards carefully with Risthart and hold back our bile if Roque shows his horseface again."

"Were it so easy," Malchus said ruefully.

Naeve rose without ceremony. "I've got to get back to my rounds, boys and girls. Great seeing you again, Opheila. Astrid, Vaas, Beq, Ayel, nice to meet you. Don't worry – I'll come to the meeting and watch Mal for you if Roque does end up there." She smiled, ruffled Malchus's hair and bore her serving tray away from the table once more.

"Now we've got an extra hour before the meeting, I think I'll go explore the markets," said Astrid decisively. "Beq? Want to come with me?"

_Who else is going to want me around? _"Fine," he sighed.

Vaas slapped a hand on the table. "Welp! I'm-a go talk to Jornusk and the other Bolveks over there. See you all in a few hours." He lumbered toward the Urgals in the corner again.

"Malchus, can Ayel and I use the sparring ring if no one's there?" Opheila asked, already half out of her seat.

"Whatever. What do you want it for, just archery and swordfighting?"

"Mm-hm."

"See, whenever you go '_mm-hm'_, sis, it means you're answering in the affirmative but you don't want to elaborate. So it's likely you don't necessarily want the ring just to fight and shoot. I will remind you it is a _public_ place and anyone's brother could walk into it at any moment, so I'll ask you to refrain from-"

"I'm just going to cut you off right there, and leave now!" she said, more than a little flustered. She grabbed Ayel's hand and dragged him out of his chair, stumbling to the door.

"Hey, whoa! Um… talk to you guys later!" He turned to her, half-whispered, "Do you always have to do that? Gods, I'm going to get a bruise."

"Did _you_ want him to continue? I think _not_, and I usually think _right_, so _shut up_ and _come on _before I kick your teeth in!"

The two of them made their way out of the tavern, bickering pleasantly. It was sickening. Beq made a face as he stood along with Astrid, making sure she didn't see and scold him for it.

Malchus still looked put off from the whole deal with Roque. "You all get on. I'm staying here a while."

"Waiting for Naeve to have some free time?" Astrid asked innocently.

He blinked at her. "You know what? Yes. Exactly that."

She gave him that sweet smile of hers and walked ahead of Beq. "Bye, Malchus. We'll see you soon!"

Beq gave him a nod, which he returned, and they left the tavern. Free to walk the city until the meeting with Risthart.

_This is gonna be a long-ass day. _

**I think Beq's my second favorite POV to write after Opheila, because he's just so gruff I can put anything I want in the narrative.**


	25. Twenty-Three: Getting There is Half

**Hard time closing out this chapter! I wanted to get to Risthart's meeting, but it wanted to end before I reached that point in time, so after alternately staring at the screen for hours and banging my head against the wall, I cut it off and the next chapter will pick up directly where we leave off here. Savvy?**

**Dictionary and Pronunciation Guide:**

**_Leíthavän_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Mend_**** ; LAY - tha - van**

**_Vakna_**** ; Ancient Language ; ****_Wake_**** ; VOKK - na**

**_Jïtela. Tehgrat bak razhid?_**** ; Urgralgar ; ****_Greetings, brother/sister. Is there an attack?_**** ; Jee -TEY - lah. TEH - grat BACK - Raz - HEED?**

**_Jïtela. Ahgrat Otrag Zhâda._**** ; Urgralgar ; ****_Greetings, brother/sister. There is a Doom Circle._**** ; Jee - TEY - lah. AH - grat OH - trag ZAH - da.**

**_Karska_**** ; Urgralgar ; ****_Thanks_**** ; KAR - ska**

**_Nehl Otam_**** ; Urgralgar ; ****_Good luck_**** ; NELL oh - TOM**

**.0.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Getting There is Half the Fun**

**Opheila**

Just about every bone and muscle in Opheila's body ached, but her wrist absolutely took the cake. It felt loose and weak, and was so uncomfortable that she could hardly move it. And if she kept it still, it stiffened and hurt even more. She checked to see if it had swelled: it hadn't, yet.

At first, Ayel had tried to convince her to heal her injury, the result of an ill-timed sword stroke, but after close inspection he delegated that the pain would "go away by itself in a few minutes" and conceded that she shouldn't bother. However, the longer it throbbed, the closer she got to caving and just casting the spell, because not only did it hurt like hell, but it incapacitated her dominant hand. So it was both painful _and_ inconvenient – not something she was in the mood for today, especially with negotiations right around the corner.

As they walked clear of the sparring ring doors, Opheila halfway reached out to close one and hissed, withdrawing her hand as her wrist overextended _again_. Ayel reached back and shut it himself, and then studied her with a concerned expression. "It'll just last longer if you baby it like that. You have to keep making fists and rolling it around in the socket."

She pouted. "I know; it was just instinct."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Trust me, I've been there. Really, if you injure your hand in any way, it's guaranteed to mess it up bad, and I hit you pretty hard."

"You think so?" Opheila said sarcastically.

"I-" Ayel put a nervous hand through his hair, embarrassed. "I'm really sorry. I just… can't seem to gauge my strength anymore. I don't know what I thought I was doing."

"Stop apologizing," she admonished him. "That's maybe twelve times in the last few minutes. It's nothing, alright? Don't sweat it."

"Then why'd you act like you wanted me to?"

Opheila rounded on him, frustrated that she had to explain herself. "Because I'm in pain and you're annoying me."

He winced. "…Sorry?"

_Oh. My. Gods. _"What did I just tell you?" She made an indignant noise in the back of her throat, unable to articulate. "Let's just go catch up with everyone else." She grabbed his hand and prepared to pull him along, as she'd done all day today, but inadvertently used her bad wrist. Mid-maneuver, a jolt of pain stopped her in her tracks, just short of crying out.

It took Ayel a second to process why she'd frozen up. "Jeez, I know I told you to move it around, but don't push it." He turned his hand over so he was holding her wrist gently, and drew his thumb across it, trying to soothe the joint. Under his breath, he said something, too, (probably cursing her carelessness) but Opheila was too distracted to hear him because the pain was slowly melting away.

Astonished, she bent her hand forward experimentally and met no resistance. It was as if she'd never hurt it at all. "Hey, it actually feels better now. I guess you were right about it going away by itself."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He nodded slowly. "Went away by itself. Never fails. Mm-hm. Let's get going."

As they walked, Opheila's eyes narrowed. _Suspicious much? _"Wait a minute; did you heal me just now?"

Ayel looked at her, surprised. "Why do you ask?"

She came to a full stop and crossed her arms, fully intending to stare him down until he answered truthfully. "Usually you're not a bad liar, but sometimes when you know I'm onto you, the tips of your ears turn red."

"Let me guess," he gulped. "They're red right now."

"As tomatoes. You healed me."

"…Kind of."

"Kind of?" Opheila swatted him on the arm. "I _told _you not to _spoil_ me!"

"Yow! Did you really want to go put up with diplomacy in a bad mood, though?" he asked, guarding his stinging shoulder warily.

She huffed. "I would have been fine as soon as it went away."

Ayel scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well, you know how you thought it was sprained, and I said no way?"

"Yes?"

"I was wrong. It was, and it probably wouldn't have gone away in time."

There was a beat as they crossed the street in silence.

"Damn it, Ayel! Literally our first day of practice and you sprain my wrist?"

"I'll be more careful in the future! Besides, it wasn't entirely my fault when _someone _was distracting me. On purpose, I might add!"

"It was _tactics_!" People in the marketplace were starting to stare.

"It was _flirting_! In the middle of a fight!"

"Who said I wasn't allowed to weaponize it?"

"Well, just because Arya does it to Eragon doesn't mean it's a good idea! Look what happened!"

"Oh, please! I would have beaten you if you hadn't been so clumsy!"

As they turned a corner, Ayel looked back at her. "_Clumsy?_ I wouldn't have missed my strike if _you_ hadn't been so-WHOA!" Suddenly, he lost his balance out of nowhere and fell. There was a resounding crash, along with the sound of splintering wood and several dull impacts on the ground. Opheila watched, awestruck, as a fleet of cabbage heads rolled away from the scene of Ayel lying spread-eagled in the middle of a ruined merchant's booth. They'd both failed to notice it in their path and he was paying the price for it.

"Oww…" he groaned as he tried to sit up, wooden planks shifting underneath him. "Son of a - that's gonna leave a mark…"

A short, thin man in an apron came dashing over to them, clearly in hysterics. "MY CABBAGES!"

At first, Opheila tried to stifle her giggles, but they grew into all-out laughter. "That's…twice today…I've distracted you…and one of us…has gotten hurt!" she said between bursts of merriment.

The owner of the booth was not amused. "My precious wares! My stall! You've – you've utterly destroyed them!"

"Yes, um, sorry about that," Ayel said as he rose. "And if my lovely companion weren't so busy laughing at me for it, we could get it fixed in a jiff here…"

"But my cabbages! My cabbages!" cried the distraught vendor. "I can't sell them now they've been in the street! And half of my stock have rolled away to freedom! I'll never make a profit now!"

Ayel stared at him blankly. "Pick them up and wash them. We'll take care of the stand."

"But I've lost half my-"

"If you say 'my cabbages' one more time, I swear-"

"Ayel," said Opheila, who had finally regained control of herself. "Let's just get this over with."

"Fine." He pivoted and stood next to her. "What's the word?"

She raised a hand. "Leíthavän." The fragments of the stall boards rose off the ground and slowly began to connect with each other. It was a difficult process because she couldn't miss a single piece, and had to account for all the nails, but Ayel joined his mind with hers and caught the few things she missed. One of them would have been as tired as if they'd spent the rest of the day rebuilding the booth, but working together they only got a little more exhausted than they already were. Ayel's shoulders sagged slightly, and Opheila was starting to get sleepy when she ended the spell.

The aproned salesman gazed slack-jawed at the stall, which was good as new.

"So, ah…Rider business to get to. Apologies for the mess. Good day!" Ayel clapped him on the shoulder and quickly made for the next corner, eager to get away.

Opheila followed right behind him, but she could still hear the man wail, "But what about my cabbages?"

"Next time I see him," Ayel growled. "I don't know what I'll do."

She grinned at him. "By the way, were you going to say something about not being clumsy?"

Nimbly dodging the subject, he pointed ahead of them. "Oh look, it's Beq and Astrid. Oi! You two!"

Beq and Astrid were making their way down the road, occasionally stopping to look at what the vendors were selling. They looked an odd couple; Beq was huge compared to her, and where she bustled pleasantly, he trailed after her in a way that made him seem surly even when Opheila couldn't see his expression. When Ayel called out to them, they both turned and Astrid, who had already seen them, hastened to get closer.

"Well, if it isn't the brave knight who slew the mighty cabbage stand!" She said cheerfully, and added to explain, "We heard the crash, and news travels fast."

"We're heading to the Imperial Embassy, since it's almost time. Are you guys ready?" asked Opheila.

In the background, Ayel asked Beq: "Where's Vaas?"

Beq replied: "Dunno."

"Yes, we should be, just about." Astrid checked the clasp on her pouch and smoothed out her skirts. "Beq, we're going."

"Fine."

Ayel closed his eyes. "Hold on. Jeran's asking Ithros where Vaas went." He waited another moment, and then opened them. "Bolvek Enclave, three streets down from the Guild House. It's on our way."

Opheila wrinkled her nose. "Oddly convenient. What _is_ it about today?"

"Huh?"

"Well, hardly anything ever _is_ 'convenient' for us," she said. "Except for that one time when we all ran into each other in the Sand Demon's barrow, and we all know how that went down."

Beq squinted. "See, that's what we call _having a bad feeling about this_."

"Why should we?" Astrid was skeptical. "I mean, it's just a simple matter of talking with Lord Risthart, the head of the guard, and Opheila's father about how we handle the invasion."

"Yeah, well, you know that thing Opheila always says about people in authority?" Ayel interjected. "I don't like the idea of trying to convince Risthart, who was a fire-spitting secessionist, to trust the Empire…or getting Roque's boss on our side, for that matter."

"Yeah." Opheila frowned. "At least Malchus and Naeve will be there."

"What, so it can be their turn to cause wanton destruction with nothing more than a lovers' spat? The way I see it, they're a liability – and so are the two of you," argued Beq.

"Wait, _we're_ a liability?" Ayel snorted. "Yes, because you're the most cordial and polite person I ever met. Why don't we put _you_ in charge of negotiation, _cupcake_?"

After a tense moment, during which they glared at each other menacingly, Beq shrugged. "That's fair."

"Anyway," Astrid said hesitantly, "Even if it is practical to plan for the worst, we can at least hope for the best. And if all else should fail, Lord Risthart may see reason when Eragon arrives."

Ayel reached behind his back and shifted Hljödhr in its belt dubiously. "Better to ask forgiveness than permission. I say we just tell it to him straight - he can't ignore us; his city's about to be annihilated. Then no matter what he says, we organize an evacuation, ramp up any defenses we can, and wait until the calvary shows up."

Laughing, Opheila shook her head. "It's a lot more complex and delicate than that. If we don't play our cards right, or if he doesn't share our concerns, the city guard may openly resist us under his orders. If we muster the Mercenary Guild as an assembled force without his permission, we'll be committing an act of treason – gods forbid we institute martial law and ferry the citizens out." She brushed her bangs out of her eyes, something she had to do way too often. "We have to be _cordial_, we have to be _careful_, and we have to be _patient_." Her eyes settled on Ayel and Beq.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Ayel asked, perturbed.

Beq sighed. "She's hinting at us to behave, you daft bastard."

Growling, Ayel wheeled to face him again. "First of all, Roque's the bastard, not me. Second, I may be daft, but at least there's a _possibility_ I'll listen to what she says and act polite."

"And if I keep messing with you, that possibility will gradually dwindle," replied the Surdan blacksmith. "Proving my point that it's way too easy to rile you up."

"Oh my gods; you're insufferable! Both of you, shut up!" Opheila groaned.

Astrid stepped in between the three of them. "If everybody's already on edge, then let's not make each other worse, okay? We're all on the same side here, and we'll do better if we don't keep fighting amongst ourselves."

Ayel jerked a thumb toward Beq. "He started it this time."

"And I finished it," added Opheila, raising her hand.

"Beq, if you're in a playful mood, make sure it's productive, okay?" The dwarven girl smiled sweetly, and suddenly Opheila felt guilty for joining in the argument. She could tell Ayel did too, because he coughed and looked away awkwardly.

Beq sighed again. "Fine." He turned his gaze up. "By the way, we passed the Enclave two buildings ago."

"What?" Opheila made a full turn and led the group back to the door. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Dunno. You all were busy."

"Ughhh." The Bolveks' small embassy was a seemingly ramshackle sort of hut that was one of the largest buildings on the street. It had a formless shape, but lots of spiky ornamentation in the architecture. The woven strips of cloth Vaas had said were called _namna _were hung on either side of the entrance. She approached the rather sizeable door and yanked it open.

The first thing she saw in the doorway was an Urgal flying at her face. Opheila ducked to the side, and was pulled even further out of the way by Ayel, who had decided she didn't dodge wide enough. He was proved correct, however, when the Urgal continued out of the threshold and knocked the door off its hinges, bringing door and door-breaker crashing to the ground where she had been standing.

Brushing past her, Ayel went to the Urgal, a dam, as she got to her feet. "Jïtela. Tehgrat bak razhid?"

She started, surprised by his greeting in her native language, and responded in kind. "Jïtela. Ahgrat Otrag Zhâda."

"Otrag Zhâda? Oh, that's just great. Karska."

"Nehl otam_._" The dam re-entered the building, while Ayel took a few steps back toward the group.

"I didn't know you spoke Urgralgar," Opheila said as he approached.

He shrugged. "I picked some up just from watching Vaas and Garzvhog the first day, so he thought he'd teach me after that. And hold the next thought, because we're going to have to go in there and get him."

"It seems kind of… I don't know, violent in there?" Astrid remarked, peeking out from behind Beq.

Ayel chuckled. "It is. 'Otrag Zhâda' means 'Doom Circle'. There's a wrestling match going on in there. Most likely Kull, most likely drunk, and very unlikely that there are only two participants." He leaned in the door, squinted. "Looks like one of them is Vaas."

"No shit." Beq joined him. "And it's that one from earlier… Jornusk or something." He frowned, confused. "Is that one beating him over the head with a raw steak?"

"Looks like there are prickly pears involved, too," observed Opheila. "Maybe we shouldn't go in. Too many cacti for my taste."

Astrid was somewhat reluctant to look. "_Cacti?_"

"Urgals sure fight rough… unbelievable! Just look at all the blood."

"_Blood?_"

"This keeps up, he might not be able to go with us. I think his nose is pulp by now."

"Okay, that's it!" Shoving Beq out of the way with unprecedented force, Astrid marched over to the door. "If none of you are going to drag him out of there, then I will! Honestly, what is it about schoolyard fighting that makes people stand around and watch instead of do something about it!" Her face was beet red and her eyes flashed darkly. "He's the oldest, for crying out loud! He needs to set an example!"

"…Um, Astrid?" Beq was completely thrown for a loop.

_Is Astrid actually angry? Oh wow, she is! _"Ayel, stand back," Opheila warned.

"I'm standing back," he murmured in awe. "And I am amazed."

As soon as Astrid entered the room, the Urgals surrounding their wrestling brethren began to notice and stare at her. None of them, however, moved into her way. A few of them were forced to give her ground, and one unlucky ram backpedaled so quickly that he tripped and fell, breaking a table in half.

All activity ceased as the tiny dwarf reached the edge of the Doom Circle, breathing hard, looking more intimidating than the biggest, most muscled, and most heavily armed Kull. She searched among the wrestlers, who were frozen in shock, until she found her quarry. "VAAS! Just what do you think you're DOING!?"

Vaas, who had lifted Jornusk over his head and was in the midst of pile-driving the smaller Urgal into another Kull he'd pinned under his foot, heard her and gulped. Extricating himself from his fellow combatants numbly, he cringed and looked at her over his shoulder. "I…think…I am obediently following you out of here?"

"You've got that right," she seethed, and pounced.

Opheila saw nothing but the crowd for a moment, as the Urgals tried to re-form the Doom Circle and then immediately stampeded away from the resulting chaos. Then, purely on impulse, she stepped back from the door, and forestalled Ayel with a hand on his chest, to avoid what was coming out.

Astrid strode past the broken door, her mouth set in a thin line. One hand was thrown behind her, holding a giant gray ear. Thankfully, Vaas was still attached to the ear, and he followed, stumbling to keep up.

"Ow ow owowowowow! Astrid, leggo! _Damn_, you have a strong grip! OWW!"

Once clear of the building, she finally released his ear and faced him, hands on her hips. "What were you thinking? Did you just decide to go drinking and get into a fight when we're waiting for a diplomatic meeting? Well, now look at you! Are you drunk?"

Vaas burped guiltily. "I dunno."

"Are you hurt?" A note of her usual gentleness crept into her voice.

"Yeah, my nose is killin' me… and I think I pulled my hamstring-"

"TOUGH BREAK!" Astrid shrieked suddenly. "This is what you get! And I know how tough you are, so it's not nearly enough! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I don't care what you do in your free time, especially fighting, because I know that's you. But did it ever occur to you that this might not have been the best choice of what to do with your time when we had to meet in a few hours? When we now have to look, act, and be presentable?"

The Kull winced sheepishly. "Uh…nope?

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Vaas, I need you to work with me here. We're responsible for these three and I feel like I'm the only one who's trying to act my age."

"Hey, I hand out my fair share of pep talks! I'm lookin' out for these guys in battle, too!" He made an imperious gesture and staggered with the motion. "I'm tryina'…jus' as hard as you…" And with that, he pirouetted and fell on his face snoring. The impact very nearly shook the ground.

"Vakna!" Astrid commanded, not giving him even a second.

Vaas's eyes snapped open. "What the – ow! Hangover!"

"And it serves you right," she said disapprovingly. "Can you at least walk on your own and be somewhere approaching responsible now?"

"Argh…the pain…maybe." He hung his head. "Sorry."

Astrid was satisfied. "As well you should be." Then, in a strange sort of transformation, she looked around her, blinked, and rubbed her eyes. "I – I'm sorry, everyone. Did I black out? I feel faint."

"Astrid," Opheila said lightly. "I think you just snapped a little. Why don't you take it easy on the walk to the embassy?" She turned to Beq. "Carry her."

"'Scuse me?"

"You're excused. That wasn't a question. _Carry her_."

Beq grumbled, but he knelt down and let Astrid climb onto his shoulders. Vaas painstakingly got to his feet behind them and lumbered off in the wrong direction.

"Other way, mate." Ayel turned him around and they began down the street.

Opheila slipped an arm through his so she could whisper in his ear. "That was crazy."

"You're telling me. I had no idea Astrid could snap, but you couldn't pay me enough to make her genuinely angry at me. I wonder if – " He stopped short. "Wait, shouldn't Malchus and Naeve have come out of the House by now? And your father, too?"

_How did I miss that? _She smacked her forehead. "That's right! They would have caught up with us, which can only mean they're not there. And they can't have gone ahead, because they were waiting for us…" Her mind raced. "They'd have to be down at the docks! Maybe something happened. I know we had a client's ship coming into port today; it must have been late!"

Ayel stared her in the eyes. "You sure?"

"It's the only logical conclusion," Opheila insisted.

He nodded. "Jeran's on his way. I'll get them and catch up with you."

Astrid leaned down to talk to them, something she had never done before. "We can't split up now! We're too close!"

"And if they're late?" he asked pointedly. "Jeran might have trouble carrying us all, but he's faster than any of the other dragons. He and I can make it to the docks and back in time. I don't see any other way of Malchus and them reaching the embassy by low tide."

"Gods, he's speaking sense for once, girls, listen to him!" Beq griped. "Get moving, Ayel. We'll go on ahead."

Ayel squeezed Opheila's hand and ran across the street, where the edge of the third level overlooked the city. Without hesitating, he leapt off with all the grace of a cliff diver and was swept out of the air by a flash of orange-gold scales.

**Ayel**

Wind whipped him in the face, carrying with it a hint of salt. He could feel Jeran's joy in the flight radiating underneath him, and was so caught up in it he almost forgot to strap his legs to the saddle.

_Having fun, are you?_

_Being cooped up on that mountain is so droll. I'm happy to get out, even if it's short._

_ …__Since when do you use words like 'droll'?_

_Talking to Thera is having an effect on my vocabulary._

_Ah._

Dropping a tier and then swooping to avoid the rooftops, Jeran took them into a steep dive across the ground level, corkscrewing between chimneys and buffeting clotheslines in his wake. Ayel wondered if the people on the streets would be too frightened by the dragon suddenly in their sky.

The harbor was dead ahead, and Ayel could see the ships drifting next to the piers. There were so many of them and so many different shapes and sizes that he had to search for a full moment before he found one that was moving. _She said it was coming into port, so let's start there! _

After a hasty forward charge and a hairpin turn, Jeran landed and Ayel thumbed the buckles, sliding off his back. His boots crushed wet sand. Ahead of him, the mammoth-bellied cargo ship was being pulled aground by a group of men with ropes and hooks. A booming voice was calling when to pull with a heave-ho motif, and it was then that he recognized Opheila's father.

Hamfast was a big man, taller than Ayel, just like Malchus, and obviously had spent a lot of his life fighting and sailing. His beard was resplendent, streaked with silver, and almost reached his stomach with its thick curls. He had stripped down to his breeches, was dripping wet, and his powerful arms held one of the thick ropes. Malchus was beside him on the same line, also shirtless and pulling in tandem. Seeing them together and how closely they resembled one another brought a strange pang to the pit of Ayel's lungs.

_'__You look just like your father did at your age,' _said the voices of a hundred villagers in his head. People he had grown up with, who had known Cadmon that long, never failed to remind him.

He thought he might resent his father for it, a little.

Malchus spotted him and brought him out of his stupor. "Ayel!" He waved. "Lend a hand, will you? We have to bring her in before the water's gone!"

"I'm not the only one here! Hold on!" Ayel went to some untended ropes and thought, _Jeran, I'll find you a barrel of mead if you let me tie these to your legs._

_No._

_Come on, it'll only take a second to pull it ashore with you helping! Two barrels._

_No._

_I'll throw in some fireweed._

_ …__Alright, alright. Just don't go thinking I'm some sort of pack mule._

The topaz-colored dragon padded forward and allowed himself to be hitched to the ship. Sailors stopped what they were doing and gaped at the spectacle while Ayel fisted the knots.

Malchus and Hamfast had crossed over. The younger looked up at Jeran. "I thought I'd get used to this after meeting Thera, but I haven't."

"Is it a he or a she?" asked Hamfast.

"Boy," Ayel said, rope between his teeth.

The older man wiped some water from his eyes. "He's a beautiful animal."

Jeran snorted sparks at being called an animal, but didn't argue. _I really am._

"He likes you," Ayel noted. "And it'll be easier if you talk straight to him. They can think and speak like us."

"You don't say," Malchus chuckled. "Thera – that's Opheila's, dad – nearly bit my arm off when I asked if she could understand when I spoke to her."

_Thera's got a short fuse, _said Jeran so all could hear, and both humans jumped. _I'm a lot more accommodating. Are you done?_

Ayel stood. "Yep. He can't do it by himself, so if you could get your men back on those ropes, we can finish up here."

"OI!" Hamfast bellowed. "WHAT ARE YOU LAYABOUTS STARING AT? GET THE 'ELL TO WORK! HEAVE!" The ground crew scrambled and pulled on their lines, crying, "Heave!"

"HEAVE-HO!"

"Heave-ho!"

Ayel had to admire the man's ability to dominate a crowd. He joined Hamfast and Malchus on their rope and pulled with them as Jeran simply walked up the beach, the ship following behind him slowly.

His muscles burned; he really didn't feel the ship's movement as an individual, but he could tell it was working. Waves crashed farther and farther away, until the ship made a grating noise and Hamfast signaled to stop pulling.

"Many thanks, lad," he said. "Ayel, was it? We didn't get to talking much at dinner." He offered a hand. "Hamfast Eriksson."

"Ayel Cadmonsson."

"Cadmon?" He cocked a brow. "I feel like I've heard that name."

Shaking his head, Ayel said "I'm not from around here. But my family's from a fishing village, so maybe it's just a seaman's intuition."

"Too right!" Hamfast laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I can see why my son and daughter like you, boy. You're one of us!"

"I'd have asked him to join the Wolf Pack if he wasn't already a Rider," grinned Malchus. "Let's find some shirts. I have a feeling I know why he's here."

Ayel followed them to the harbormaster's shed, where several tunics were laid out to dry. "Yeah, we were headed to the embassy and realized you should have caught up to us. And since you can't very well make it to the third level by the time the meeting starts, we thought it better you come by dragonback."

"How'd you find us?"

"Opheila."

"Thought so," grunted Hamfast. "Very bright, she is. Good judge of character, too." He looked at Ayel askance.

"Wait," Ayel said, becoming nervous. "Wait, what did Malchus tell you?" Malchus, who was belting on a sword, snickered madly. "Malchus, what did you tell him?"

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," answered the giggling mercenary. "Speaking of you and my sister, where's Naeve? She said she'd be close by."

"Right here!" called a voice from the back of the shed. "Hold on, there are a bunch of oars in my way." With a jostle and a clatter, Naeve emerged and kissed Malchus quickly on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late. Oh, hello, Ayel!" She smiled at him. "Let me guess, Opheila had a panic attack because she thinks we're going to be late to Risthart's meeting."

"He's going to fly us up," explained Malchus, who looked a little shell-shocked.

"Yes, um…" Ayel felt heat at the tips of his ears, and Hamfast was still giving him that knowing look which had momentarily transferred to Malchus but was now settled on him alone, and it was distracting. "Well, Jeran's waiting outside, so shall we? I think we can all fit on his back, anyway."

"You think?" asked Naeve nervously.

"Hey, relax!" He threw her a smile of his own. "He may look like an armored killing machine, but he's a real sweetheart…for an armored killing machine, that is." Out the door and onto the sand, Jeran had clawed through the ropes and was sitting placidly on the beach. He belched smoke helpfully.

Naeve was less than thrilled. She hadn't lost her spunk, but she was somewhat reluctant to approach him.

"Just hold out your hand," said Malchus easily, and guided Nave's reach over to the patient dragon. Jeran leaned down and let her palm touch his nose.

"See?" Ayel said amiably. "Perfectly safe – yow!" Jeran unfolded his wing and cracked him on the skull. "What was that for?"

_That was for forgetting to untie me, _was Jeran's reply. _I had to sit there tethered to the ship as if I were just another broken-down, sway-backed nag. I don't enjoy acting like a donkey._

"You got out fine on your own!"

_It's the thought that counts._

Luckily, this bit of slapstick seemed to have put Naeve at ease, because she was laughing and petting Jeran's snout. "Okay, you're definitely Ayel's dragon," she admitted. "And your name's Jeran?"

Jeran purred. _I like this girl. She scratches nice._

"Hey, don't pamper him any more than necessary," Ayel complained with a long-suffering groan. "He'll go soft."

_I will not! Alright, show's over. Get on my back mister my-dragon's-a-baby._

"And take off carefully this time. I don't want a repeat of when Opheila almost fell off."

Hamfast stirred. "She what?"

"Nothing. I'll climb on first, and just line up behind me. Hold onto each other!" A mischievous grin spread across his face. "And just to make sure no-one's sitting on his tail, Naeve, you might have to sit on Malchus's lap."

"Might have to-" Malchus sputtered, then recovered and bowed. "Ayel, your revenge is truly served cold. I must give you my respect."

"Oh, don't act like you don't like it," Naeve scolded.

Still wearing a smirk, Ayel mounted the saddle, then gave Naeve a hand up. She stood until Malchus followed behind her, and then sat on him. He held her waist and she wrapped an arm around Ayel and the spike in front of her. Hamfast plopped down behind them and gripped a spike and his son's collar.

"Everyone set? Jeran, how you feeling?"

_Oof, you guys are heavy. I bet I can make it, though. It'll be good practice. _He straightened; his wings unfurled. _Okay, two-legs! Hold on tight!_

They took off with much more force than normal, since it required a lot of momentum to bring the extra weight, but once in the air the flying was gradual and more steady. Jeran couldn't pull off any fancy tricks, and so the trip was quite peaceful. Ayel looked back and saw his passengers looking in wonder at the city below. He faced front, shaking his head at their childlike glee. Of course he could appreciate a view, but to him flying was nothing new and much less exciting when it was this slow.

_Whoops; I guess I wasn't thinking about the return trip when I said we were the fastest. Thera or Ithros would definitely have less trouble carrying this many people._

Jeran's voice was defensive. _I was faster on the way here! And I'm doing fine._

He only had to take one breather, so perhaps he was performing better than expected. But the trip was short anyway, and before Ayel knew it they were landing – well, more like a controlled crash, really – on the skybridge that led from the fourth level to a distant outcropping on the tail of the Spine's foothills. There stood the Imperial Embassy, the headquarters of the city guard, and, further up the cliffs, Risthart's estate.

The humans dismounted carefully. Up ahead, the manor in particular looked pretentious to Ayel. It couldn't loom, because it was only one story, but it was a sprawling beast atop the mountain and it had the look of a haunted house. _I don't know what's worse – ghosts, or an idiotic Lord._

_Ghosts, _said Jeran. _I can eat Risthart, but I can't eat ghosts._

_Let's hope he listens to reason. I have a feeling he'll be difficult to persuade. _

Taking a deep breath, Ayel started across the skybridge. The doors were rather ominously shut. Four men in armor stood in front, two on either side.

Ayel raised his hand and called out to the guards.


	26. Twenty-Four: Ripples

**After a very long dry well, I've returned to Fate Unleashed. I won't waste time with apologies; let's get the ball rolling right away. The length of this chapter isn't what I'd like it to be, but my writing ability in this story is still kind of strangled, so I'll personally take what I can get. Hope you all enjoy anyways. Expect more content within the next two weeks. Druid out.**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Ripples**

**Vaas**

The sallow-faced man frowned in his carved chair. The boy had the nervous energy of a half-tamed wolf. Brooding, tense. He clearly couldn't sit still. A true son of Ahno, the trickster, son of Svarvok the Mighty.

"You, then, bring the message of doom to us all?"

A trace of a smile. Dark, ironic, as always. "So I'm told."

Vaas learned when they first met that Ayel's name means, in the tongue of his homeland, something like avenger or destroyer, depending on how you interpret it. And that he's proud of it, in a weird way.

Fifteen years old and already self-righteous, rebellious, chafing beneath conventions, age-old chains. He coughs, clears the blockage in his throat. His ill-concealed condescension and distaste mirrored by the Lord in his chair.

The ram shifted in his too-small seat, watching with grim focus.

Vaas was probably judging him too harshly. The kid's had a hard life, Father-funeral, hunted throughout his boyhood. Persecuted for being gifted, for having a proud heart.

And yet, he's brash, clumsy, foolish. Ruled by his emotions. As his race – and Vaas's – are so inclined. He hasn't had the chance to learn who he is yet. To learn what about his identity is a choice. That was a hard enough lesson for Vaas, after all. Given some time, he'll grow.

But they don't have time; they actually have a negative value of time because the days are counting down until the Ruined come over and stick a sword in every one of them if they don't do something.

Ayel knew that. Opheila, Astrid, and Beq knew it, though whether Astrid's accepted the imminent violence is debatable, poor girl. The mercenaries and tradesmen at this table know it – Hamfast and Malchus, Naeve, even though she's not supposed to be here, Jeod, the slicked-hair bookish man with that odd twinkle in his eye that makes it totally believable that he hung out with Eragon, and Helen, his wife, who is the real queen around here as far as Vaas is concerned.

But then, Lord I-have-a-stick-up-my-ass Risthart didn't know it. Nor did his knife-nosed bastard son. Likewise none of the people of any real hierarchy-based importance around here, who for some reason only just now decide to assert their decision-making authority where previously the guilds were allowed to operate semi-autonomously.

It's the kind of thing Opheila would love to rant and complain about until everyone's ears bled. She probably would later, too; there'd be no one who can stop her. If Eragon were here…no, if Arya were here, maybe. But no.

It irks Vaas, too, but not as much as it's obviously driving Ayel crazy.

As a rule, Vaas doesn't concern himself overmuch with the matters of state and the intricacies of "civilized" politics. The way he was raised, what the war chief says goes for everyone. And the war chief can only say what the Herndall let him, or risk any number of things physical, as well as offending Rahna, the Mother, She of the Gilded Horns. The war chief decides what is best for his people: when they go to war, when they hang up their weapons, where they settle. The only time you disobey is when the war chief is not fit to lead. Then you challenge him.

_Somehow I don't think a challenge is appropriate here._

Ithros, the only one who heard that, was blissfully half asleep in a meat coma. _Of course it's not. Now let me nap._

_You've gone and eaten too much again, you chunk._

_Hn. _The dragon said nothing more.

Chuckling to himself, Vaas sent a questing tendril into Ayel's mind, sensing his impatience long before he got there.

Ayel spoke first. _He hates me. Every second he's imagining my head on a pike. _

_Coming from his viewpoint it's not unusual. We barged into his territory and you want to take command of the city under martial law, to respond to a threat he has no confirmation of. As Riders, we're not someone he can trust, we're symbols of the Empire now – despite Eragon's efforts. And as children – _

_Oi!_

_Children in his eyes, man, I'm trying to level. As younger people, we're challenging his authority in more than just a political sense. It's going to be hard to get him to listen in the first place; we can't go acting unreasonably hostile just because he doesn't like us. Look at him; he's a crusty, mean old fart. It's in his nature. _

_What do you mean acting unreasonably hostile?_

_I mean like – like that. That, there!_

_What?_

_Don't bloody glower at him when you're talking like that._

_Okay, it's hard enough to carry on two conversations at once as it is, but now you're coaching me on my facial expressions?_

_I'm just saying, acting like the nasty little bugger you are inside isn't going to help us here._

_OI!_

A new voice, familiar, cool, female. _Vaas, stop exacerbating him, will you? The mood in the room is suffering. _

_I'm only trying to help._

_And I appreciate your effort, but you're dealing damage only here. I do agree with your insights on Risthart and the flaws within the system, though._

_How the hell long have you been here, anyway? I didn't even feel you._

_I affectionately refer to it as "stealth mode". Now, can we focus? Risthart's getting antsy._

_Sorry, _Ayel's mental voice was as if through gritted teeth. _I can handle talking and joining minds with one person, but two is pushing it and I needed a second. _

_It's fine. Vaas, withdraw then, if you would. I'll handle the diplomacy advice from here on out._

_You're no fun._

_If you're going to sulk, talk to Astrid._

_Ech. _

Vaas conceded to silence, though he could still sense the exchange of their minds. Something made him look over his shoulder and he saw Beq staring at Risthart. His face was a blade.

_Beq?_

_Vaas._

_What are you thinking?_

_This man is a slave owner._

_Are you sure?_

_Don't neffing patronize me. _

_Hey now._

Beq's consciousness relaxed grudgingly. _I know one when I see one. _

_Well, _the Urgal sighed mentally and physically. _I don't want to invalidate what you said, but - _

_Are you going to say we have more important things to do than find out for certain?_

_That…was a long sentence._

_I _am_ capable of progressive speech, you know. I choose not to because there's not a lot that's actually worth saying._

_Can't argue with that logic. More to the point, yeah, I was gonna say that._

_I don't need your permission anyway._

_You certainly don – PERMISSION TO DO WHAT?_

Beq didn't respond.

Vaas rallied. _Look, you get one whiff that you may be right, at least tell us first. We can settle matters from there, but you do not kill anyone without consulting with the group! Understand? Rule number one: Always report to the leader._

_Who's the leader right now, Ayel? _

_Rule number two: Don't kill the leader._

_Fine. _

_We agreed on the rules for a reason, man. After that time with – _

_We also agreed never to speak of that again._

_Well after…that event that doesn't exist…occurred…we have seventeen rules for as many specific crises that we're honor-bound to abide by._

Confusion colored the human's thoughts. _Seventeen? I thought it was sixteen._

_Rule number seventeen: never say no to healing._

_ …__Damn it, Ayel._

_It was Astrid's idea._

_ …__Damn it. _Beq somehow managed to sound both more and less frustrated.

_So?_

_Fine. I won't do anything until we're all agreed. _

_See? Working as a team is fun!_

_I hate all of you._

_We love you, too, buddy._

_Neff off._

_Whatever._

Leaving Beq to stew in his angst, Vaas leaned back and almost broke the trestle table he was sitting on. Hastily recovering, (and making an unprecedented amount of noise, which thankfully went largely ignored by those involved in official proceedings), he crossed his arms and poked Astrid in the side gently.

She almost fell off the bench, but righted herself and poked him back, which felt like a good-sized insect landing on his upper arm.

Rather than engage in conversation, the two of them sat in a companionable silence as negotiations continued.

**Eragon**

A loud, jarring tap at his window broke his concentration. Eragon gave a cry and fell out of his chair, sending his intended project – the dictionary he had been working on for four years now – across the room.

_Most valiant, _Saphira said from her perch in the room below. _I'm sure the bards will sing of how the legendary Shadeslayer once somehow actually tripped while sitting down._

_Ha-ha. I'm going to check the window. If its latch is warped again I'm going to atomize it and magic a new one, I swear._

_Have fun._

Rather than a defective window frame, what awaited Eragon was on the other side of the portal. A brown and russet gyrfalcon, sitting almost patiently but with the unmistakable air of a predator, held its beak close to the glass.

It had a scroll tied to its leathery foot with red thread.

_Saphira, are you seeing this?_

_Well, what are you waiting for? It's clearly a message. Open the window and have done. You humans hesitate far too much._

Unclasping the latch, Eragon swung the window inward and the gyrfalcon took a careful step onto the sill, then flapped once and landed on his shoulder, very nearly braining him with its wingtip. Talons dug painlessly into his leather jerkin. The bird held out its leg for him to untie the scroll, as if trained to do so.

Careful not to pierce his fingers on the outstretched claws, Eragon undid the loop and held the scroll in his hands. It was an odd sort of paper, and appeared to be veiny and slightly green like an aging leaf. There was the look of a magically created item about it. As he unrolled it, the material crackled and flaked.

Inside there was a string of words in the ancient language. The handwriting was cramped, urgent.

_Brother, come north quickly. Follow the fireflies.  
Thorn's dying.  
Murtagh_


End file.
